


Eden in a Box

by cincoflex



Series: Eden series [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Movie, Romance, sassy dialog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Pepper work at a relationship, with Jarvis' help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eden in a Box

Chapter 1

She feels the stomachache again and chalks it up to the usual stress. Pepper hates to admit that yes, she's susceptible to it, but lately—as in the last three days—it's gotten really bad.

Which is stupid, because life has been fairly quiet. Tony has been behaving—for him anyway. He's either locked away in the garage doing modifications to the suit, or following the skeleton schedules she's managed to talk him into for the sake of PR. Nothing major is on the calendar, and yet her stomach won't settle down.

Pepto helps, a little. Pepper manages to chew some tablets before being summoned by his Starkship down to appreciate some tiny detail of his latest work. To be honest, she's not as dazzled by the suit itself as by what it means to Tony. What it's *done* to Tony.

This . . . quest, of his.

Six months ago, if anyone had told her that her brilliant but shallow boss, her playboy employer would gain a social conscience, she would have politely laughed.

Not now.

He's got an inner drive now, and the hell of it is it excites her to see him honestly committed to something beyond the next martini, the next blonde. To something meaningful and great—something that only *he* can do.

Another lance of pain, and Pepper thinks maybe taking the afternoon off and getting a heating pad would be a good idea. A REALLY good idea. She starts down the stairs to the garage, ready to smile weakly at whatever Tony's done, and then make her request.

At the third step though, the pain goes off the scale, so bad she wobbles, folds up and starts to black out on the stairs. Right before Pepper falls she catches Tony's horrified glance through the glass wall separating them.

000ooo000ooo000

_Blackness. Pain, A few glimpses of lights overhead, passing by._

_Bye, thinks Pepper. Bye-bye._

_She feels she's going up now, very high._

_And then it's dark again._

000ooo000ooo000

She feels the pain before she opens her eyes, and the antiseptic smell tells her she's in the hospital. Blearily Pepper looks around, feeling sluggish panic, but before she can say anything, one face hovers over her, dark eyes locking on hers.

"There are easier ways to get sick leave days from me, Ms Potts," Tony tells her, trying to tease. She knows it's hard for him though, because his gaze is so unwavering. Pepper looks down; he's holding her hand, the one with the IV in it.

"What-"

"Your appendix nearly ruptured on the operating table. Very dramatic," Tony murmurs. "Not that the quick thirty mile flight over Malibu to the hospital helped it to begin with."

She blinks. "You flew me?"

One eyebrow arches up at the suggestiveness of that, and Pepper doesn't want to laugh because her abdomen aches so much, burning and tingling. She doesn't want to, but she does, weakly.

"An ambulance would have taken too long, and I wasn't about to lose you because of traffic. Besides, the Live Flight landing pad was clear," Tony mumbles, clearly not wanting to go into details that Pepper knows she'll have to deal with later, when she gets out of the hospital. Unauthorized landing on a privately owned building with possible damage to the same; intimidation of medical personnel—

She's already lining up who to call and what to smooth over, but the warmth of Tony's hand in hers is amazingly comforting, and Pepper wants to savor it. She tentatively squeezes his fingers, and the sudden brightness in his eyes startles her.

"Did I get a bag of honey peanuts?" Pepper smiles at him, and closes her eyes to go back to sleep.

000ooo000ooo000

Tony watches her drift back to sleep, and the tension along his shoulders and neck finally relax, letting go of the knots that have been there for the past two days. He keeps Pepper's hand in his, and uses his other one to gently stroke her temple, where the bruise is standing out against her pale skin.

Appendicitis and a broken arm, the doctors tell him. Possible concussion, although mild. Tony feels like crap, not having picked up on her symptoms; her earlier distress. The lead physician on the case tries to tell him that it's not his fault, but Tony isn't letting himself off the hook that easily. After all, he'd seen the empty packets of Pepto-Bismol tablets in the trash, and never bothered asking.

Now he's got Jarvis canceling appointments, _("Personal emergency, we shall call you to re-schedule, thank you so much for your patience.")_ and even now, the housekeepers are setting up the spare bedroom across from his.

Pepper won't like it, he knows. She values her independence and her privacy. But he's checked, and Tony also knows there isn't anyone to take care of her right now but him. Her only living relative-an aunt-is halfway across the country, and at seventy-two is in no shape to come out—not that Tony wants her to.

No, this is something he can do himself. That he WANTS to do, because he owes this woman more than he can ever repay, and even more than that, he loves her.

Loves her so much he can't figure out exactly what to do about it, which is really a first in Tony Stark's world. He can handle deadlines and mergers, deals, acquisitions, recreational sex, specs, circuitry, small talk and power-broking, but love is so far out of his league he hasn't got the first clue what to do.

Flowers, he assumes, and chocolates. He's pretty sure those are the standards for a situation like this, and he wishes Pepper had looked around the room when she was awake. Right now every available surface is filled with vases of bouquets, and stacked on the visitor's chair is enough Ganache chocolate to put the entire Endocrinology wing into a diabetic coma.

He should leave and let her rest. Tony knows that—after all, it's the best thing for her, and he's got more than enough to do back at the compound.

He stays.

000ooo000ooo000

Tony feels the chill of Pepper's annoyance, and tries to be patient. They're in the limo, heading back to the compound and she hasn't spoken a word for most of the trip. Her bruises are healing, and between on the seat is a pharmacy paper bag full of her medications.

He wishes she would say something, but instead, Pepper keeps her gaze directed out the window, and averted from him. Tony tells himself she'll relax once they're inside and she can sleep. Then Pepper finally turns to look at him, and her eyes are direct, and cool. "I really *hate* this," she tells him in a low voice. "I'm not comfortable being . . . obligated to you, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, me too," he mock-sighs. "I really wish you'd arranged to get appendicitis on your own time, Ms. Potts."

She flinches a little, and he reaches for her hand. "Kidding. Look, you've spend years of overtime watching out for my sorry ass without a word of complaint, and I think it's only fair that I pay back some of that diligence. I am *lost* without you, and you know that's the truth, so suck it up, Pepper, and just hang out at the house for a few weeks until you're back on your feet, okay?"

Pepper blanches. "A few weeks? The doctor said I'd be fine in three days!"

"Second opinion," Tony tells her with as straight a face as he can muster. "Co2 absorption is painful, and with your arm in a sling, it's not like you're going to be able to text at your usual Mach roadrunner speed."

000ooo000ooo000

It takes almost all of his willpower, but he stops himself from hovering around her. Pepper is sitting on the sofa in her bedroom, pulling the sling off and looking tired. He backpedals to the doorway. "You probably want to lie down a while, so I'll just . . . go do stuff. But Jarvis is up, and if you need anything-"

"I'll go get it myself," she tells him, but her words have no sting, and he can see the trip home has been rough on her. Despite advances, laparoscopic surgery is *still* surgery, and she needs a lot of rest. Pepper moves to sit on the bed and slips out of her shoes; it's such a graceful gesture that Tony feels a lump in his throat.

"Let me get you a blanket," he murmurs.

When he comes back, she's lying down, curled up on one side, hands folded under her cheek, eyes closed. He drapes the crocheted afghan over her and steps back, not sure of what else to do. More than anything, Tony wants to touch her; kiss her temple gently. Instead, he reaches down and strokes her cheek.

Pepper's eyes don't open, but she smiles, and the dimple on her cheek leaves him feeling slightly giddy.

000ooo000ooo000

She's restless. Pepper fights her irritation and looks around the living room, feeling about as useful as one of the ornaments here. She's read every magazine, amused herself on the Internet and managed to eat a little, but nothing holds her attention for long, and she needs something to DO.

Tony and Jarvis have her locked out of the Office program, and try as she might, Pepper can't get into anything related to Stark Industries. Grudgingly they've allowed her access to the Schedule, but only for events two months from now or longer; most of those are already in place and don't require much on her part but some confirmations and reservations.

She wishes Tony understood, but of course he doesn't. Tony Stark has always had infinite resources for occupying his time, and for once Pepper truly envies that he's got so many diverse interests. The cars, the suit, the bio-engineering start-ups, the alternative energy research—he's got more than enough to do.

Why he wants to saddle himself with a semi-invalid puzzles her a bit, but Pepper figures it's a good dose of guilt, and maybe that's not a bad thing, and makes up a little for some of moments he's put her through in the past year, at the very least.

But the boredom!

Her job has never been easy, and a lot of times it hasn't been fun, but Pepper realizes that she adores the challenge. Keeping Anthony E. Stark on schedule and ahead of the pack has been a hell of a job, and just because he's changed his moral compass for the better and she's let herself get sick doesn't mean she isn't up to it anymore.

Or is she?

For a sickening moment, Pepper worries that Tony is phasing her out; the fear of being fired is so strong she wonders if she's going to throw up. She wraps her one good arm around her stomach as she rocks forward on the sofa, feeling miserable both mentally and physically now.

"Are you in need of assistance, Ms Potts?" Jarvis asks softly, and Pepper flushes. She shakes her head and clears her throat.

"No, I'm fine," comes her automatic response, this one a little whisper. It's not true, but the AI won't know that.

She gets up and slowly makes her way to the deck outside, where sunshine on her face makes Pepper feel a little better. The Pacific is a gorgeous blue, and a few gulls are wheeling by overhead. A few minutes later, Tony comes bounding up the garage steps and wanders out to join her. They watch the gulls for a moment together.

"So," Tony begins.

Pepper sighs, "Jarvis is one large mechanical tattletale."

"You know, the whole point of recuperation is to get better. If you're not getting better you need to let me know, so I can adjust the conditions."

"That's fine for engineering. People are a little more complicated, Mr. Stark."

She turns and leaves him on the deck, still staring at the gulls.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper reads the article with growing concern, and by the time she reaches the end, she's not sure which emotion is stronger; anger or humiliation. In the course of her job she's faced a lot of accusations and insinuations, but this latest article of Christine Everhart's is a masterpiece of understated implication.

It's about Tony, of course; the woman is still obsessed with her boss and seems to have never really gotten over her one-night stand with him. Pepper could almost forgive her for that, if *that* was the only problem.

The real issue though, is how this latest Vanity Fair article intimates that she, Pepper Potts, is nothing more than a nanny/keeper to the Great Man, and that because of her and Obadiah Stane, Tony Stark has always completely isolated from the real world, his little adventure in Afghanistan notwithstanding.

The hell of it is, Pepper realizes, part of it is true.

At least, it *used* to be. But Tony's changed, and this article completely ignores all the good he's done in the last three months. Pepper thinks of the bullet holes and broken glass; of the maniacal look in Obadiah's face and grits her teeth, wishing for a moment that Ms. Everhart had been there to see all of that for herself.

But she wasn't, and no matter what sort of PR spin Pepper can authorize to counter this article, it will be too little too late. Pepper sighs, feeling the sting of one particular paragraph:

Ms Potts is quite likely the prettiest nanny any spoiled brat millionaire could ever wish for, and well-compensated for her devotion to keeping Tony Stark dressed, fed and free of those dangerous emotional entanglements that might happen should he be allowed to-horror of horrors-want a relationship rather than recreational sex. But it's clear that although the leash is long, it's still in Nanny Potts' gloved little hand.

"I read that. Kinky, actually," comes Tony's voice from behind her shoulder at the sofa, and Pepper flinches, making the magazine rustle loudly. She looks up at him, feeling her exasperation well up a bit.

"It's offensive and tinged with the acid of a woman scorned," Pepper points out, fighting to stay calm. "You need to avoid sleeping with reporters, sir."

"Christine Everhart is no reporter," comes the absent reply. Pepper notices he's got a socket wrench and a bolt in his hands, which are covered with grease. "At best she's a puff piece in every sense of the word, and—"

Pepper drops the magazine. "—Be that as it may, she's made an implication here that's insulting to you, and . . ." she trails off, because Tony's face takes on a hard expression. He turns his gaze on her, and she feels the heat.

"—And degrading to _you._ I got that. I've taken care of it."

"What?" Pepper blinks at him, annoyed that his words both frighten and excite her. Defending her honor is a concept she was sure Tony had never considered—certainly he'd never bothered with it before.

"She wants to do my biography," Tony goes on, looking stern. "Unauthorized. Already had notes, outlines, the whole nine yards. Her editor was very forthcoming when I chatted to him yesterday, and what it boils down to is that if Ms Everhart fails to send a private note of apology to you within the next three days, my lawyers will begin a motion to confiscate her materials concerning me as a matter of invasion of privacy under the current stalking laws."

Pepper can't speak. It's so utterly outrageous, and at the same time so ruthlessly pragmatic that all she can do is blink. Tony stares down at the bolt in his hands and speaks again. "There won't be any more Everharts, Ms. Potts. Even though the whole nanny imagery is . . . hot," he admits. "Especially the potential for spanking."

Pepper rolls her eyes. She wants to say something, but the first thing that comes out isn't what she expects. She rises, and comes to stand in front of him, staring at her cast instead of into his eyes. "Thank you. I'm leaving for a few weeks."

Tony blinks, definitely caught off-guard. "Wait, what? Leaving? You're injured."

"I need some time off," Pepper tells him gently, but firmly, and finally looks at him. "Two weeks. It's a clause in my contract that I can take it whenever I want."

Tony scowls a little. "I don't like it."

That makes her smile; it's hard on her too, although she's not ready to say so to him, especially after all he's done for her in the last week. She gives a little shake of her head. "I know. But I have some . . . thinking to do."

Tony's face goes impassive; at any other time she'd assume he was bored with the conversation, but his eyes can't hide his anxiety, try as he might. "Okay then, thinking is good. I do that on occasion. Thinking. Not often, but you know that already. Will this thinking gig affect the duration of your vacation?"

And she sees it. Fear of abandonment in those big, dark eyes.

Pepper lets her breath catch a moment. Instead of speaking, she hooks her cast over his shoulder and around his neck, pulling Tony close to her, into that dangerous space that isn't quite close enough for a kiss, but so much closer than friends ever share. "I will talk to you every day. I will be back."

000ooo000ooo000

All his life, Tony Stark has been a doer. He figures things out, situations and problems, then finds solutions for them. Need a cheap power source? Arc reactor. Better missile system? Jericho. Trapped by terrorists in the middle of nowhere? Armored suit.

Solution-oriented, ruthlessly so, he knows.

It's not been a big success with people though, and Tony knows this. Pepper IS one of his solutions—the best he's ever had in his life. She is the missing link between him and the rest world; a sweet, efficient, strong, loyal woman with a brilliance all her own, and while Everhart's article is snide and painful, it's got enough truth to it to make Tony uncomfortable.

Pepper might have the leash, but *he* collared himself and put the handle in her hand.

And he likes it that way. Tony might snipe and grumble about specifics, but the gentle, sweet accountability to the one person who has never let him down was a good thing before Afghanistan.

Now—now it's not a leash. It's a lifeline. It's the one, true connection he still has left, the one that matters most. Pepper is his sounding board, his conscience, his better half.

A Jiminy Cricket with freckles.

The thought of being without her is alarming, even if it's only for fourteen days. Nevertheless, Pepper's right—she deserves the time off, and if she needs to leave, he won't stop her.

It's a melancholy last supper they share on the deck overlooking the Pacific at sunset. The sky is overcast, and the air is cool. Pepper picks at her salad and gives short answers to his questions.

"So your aunt knows you're coming on my jet."

"Yep. She'll meet me at the private airport."

"Kiowa, Kansas," Tony muses despairingly. "And I thought *I* was in the middle of nowhere in Afghanistan."

"You were," Pepper assures him. "I'm going to be in the middle of the Midwest."

"What the hell is there to DO in Kansas?" he asks, finally, caught between a laugh and a sigh. The idea of Pepper stranded in miles of corn and wheat is an image that haunts him, makes him think of Cary Grant running from a crop duster.

Pepper looks up from her wilted lettuce. "Have better food than this, for starters. This is the most anemic iceberg I've seen in years. My Aunt Ruby would feed this to the hogs."

Tony blinks. "Hogs. You're going to Old MacDonald's farm. Dear God, let me guess—one morning you'll find a spider web in the doorway that spells 'Some Pig.'"

She laughs, finally, and part of his tension relaxes under that spell. Pepper has a lovely laugh, soft and sweet. "We all have to come from somewhere, Mr. Stark. I just happen to come from Kiowa."

"And you're going back to it," this slips out before he can stop himself; Pepper sets her plate aside and gets up. She comes over to him on the other side of the glass table and bends down, looking intently into his eyes as a little breeze stirs the loose tendrils of her strawberry blonde hair.

"No, I'm visiting Kiowa, and I will be coming back here," she whispers. "Until I hear the words 'Ms Potts, you're fired' from your lips, Mr. Stark, I'm committed to this position."

Tony leans forward, back into that mingle point of their auras; the place where she's the focus of everything, and all the glib responses he thinks of evaporate because the scent of her is ratcheting up his pulse, and instead he swallows hard.

He shakes his head. "Never," he rasps.

_Chapter 2_

Watching her cross the tarmac, pulling her bag behind her with her good arm, the mid-afternoon breeze blowing her hair is the hardest sight for him. That slender back, those delectable legs—Tony takes another sip of his scotch as he stares at Pepper out the window of the jet.

He'd come with her this far, insisting she deserved the escort, and she hadn't argued. During the flight Pepper had commented about the poles and Tony had lied sweetly, insisting they were there to stabilize the cabin.

"That's too bad. I'd hoped that you'd dance for me," she'd murmured, earning a splutter and clink of ice.

"Maybe for your return, Ms Potts. If you're a good girl," he'd replied coyly, knowing that if it would keep her from going, he'd do the full damned Monty right then and there.

Now Pepper is speeding up, Tony notes moodily, hurrying to meet a woman almost as tall as she was, in jeans with a matching denim jacket. Before he can get a good glimpse, the pilot begins to roll the Lear away, and Tony loses sight of the two women as the jet turns for the runway.

He finishes his drink in silence, deliberately thinking of other things, his expression impassive.

Tony works for fifteen hours straight, moving from meetings to labs, to the garage of the compound, focusing his attention on whatever was in his hands or under his nose. In the early evening, he showers, and tries to sleep.

After an hour or restlessness, he rises and wanders into the guest room, finally dropping off on the mattress there as he breathes in the scent of Pepper still lingering on the pillow there.

000ooo000ooo000

Aunt Ruby is quiet and a little formal, but that wears off quickly as Pepper settles in. The guestroom is small, and she shares it with a cat and a sewing machine, but the wallpaper is still the yellow one with the daisies on it, and the sweet smell of hay hangs in the air.

It's been a warm spring, and at sunset, the sound of crickets carry over the flat land. Pepper curls up on the lumpy mattress and sleeps deeply, grateful for her pain relievers.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper lingers on the front porch, mug of coffee in hand, watching the sunrise. She's in a satin nightshirt of pink, barefoot on the wooden planks, breathing deeply. It's good, she thinks, and smiles.

She's known this farm for a good part of her life; spent summers here, and later lived with Aunt Ruby and Uncle Jan for a few years when her mother died. Pepper knows by sight what crops are in and which are coming up; she knows by smell how long it's been since the last fertilizing, and how the weather's been. Things she hasn't thought of in years come back in the simple act of breathing.

This is as far as a person can get from Stark Industries. As far as possible from the tech and toys of Tony Stark.

Breakfast is pancakes. Aunt Ruby speaks up as she loads Pepper's plate. "Your boss called while you were asleep, Ginnie."

Pepper is not surprised. "Oh?"

"Wanted to know what coffee he likes."

She sighs. Tony hasn't ordered his own coffee in nearly three years, so it's no surprise he has no clue about what she's been bringing him each morning.

"Is he all right in the head? Because any man who doesn't know how he takes his own damned coffee has to be a mite touched," Aunt Ruby murmurs. Pepper giggles to herself a bit and pours syrup on a golden, fluffy pancake.

"He forgets, when he gets busy. Captains of industry are like that," Pepper replies through a mouthful of breakfast.

Aunt Ruby snorts a little. "Heh. I told him black, straight up, and to call back when it wasn't three in the morning."

"Good answer," Pepper agrees.

000ooo000ooo000

She phones in mid-afternoon, and can tell that Tony's routed her call immediately because he's on by the second ring, sounding a little breathless. That pleases Pepper for reasons she can't quite hide.

"Busy?"

"Yes, completely, extraordinarily, utterly. I thought you were on vacation, Potts. Miss me already?" he shoots back, and in the background she can hear the familiar music of Zelda.

The Ocarina of Time of all things—one of his old, _old_ comfort games. She grins.

"I just wanted to tell you that you *don't* drink your coffee black, you like two creams and two sugars generally."

"I thought it was incredibly bitter," Tony muses. "Your aunt must be cackling."

"She was remarkably polite, considering the hour you called, Mr. Stark."

There is no answer to this; Pepper knows Tony well enough to picture him concentrating on the game, brow furrowed slightly.

"Other things you need to know include the fact that you hate toothpicks in your sandwiches, and you don't like guacamole. Just in case you and your Air Force liaison decide to run down to the Malibu Grill for dinner," she tells him forthrightly.

"Why don't I like guacamole?"

"Because you vomited up a pint of it two years ago after your 'All you can Drinko-De-Mayo Cinco De Mayo party. As I recall it even came through your nostrils in a spectacular display of grossness yet to be topped."

"Mem-mories light the corners of my mind," Tony sings back mildly. "Misty guacamole memories, of the way we were-"

"I have a question, speaking of that incident," Pepper breaks in. "When you're in the suit, and you sneeze-?"

"I bruise my forehead, mostly."

"Ah."

"How's the arm?"

"Healing. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Until then, my Navi Miss Potts."

That makes her smile, and she pockets the phone before heading into the barn. Out of habit she looks up along the doorway for spiders.

000ooo000ooo000

Tony argues with himself for the better part of three days, reminding himself of the cons constantly. She'll get pissed, is the big one. When Pepper disapproves of something he does, or says or wears he can tell. Her mouth tightens up and she takes a deep breath before trying to reason with him.

He grins at the memory of it.

The second con is simple. I don't have clearance. That's a minor issue since he can always fly under the radar, literally, for most of the distance. Edwards, Lackland and Travis are monitoring his flights most of the time anyway.

The third is the common sense one: It's unnecessary.

Tony Stark dismisses that one as soon as it dawns in his brain.

With every con, the challenge of making the trip becomes more appealing, and Tony realizes that his one pro argument trumps all the others and always will. He tells Jarvis to wake him two hours before dawn, and when the time comes, Tony suits up and takes off.

Destination: Kiowa, Kansas.

000ooo000ooo000

Cow pastures are muddy, Tony learns. They are muddy and consequently not safe ground for a mechanized suit that weighs two hundred pounds. He glares at his feet in disgust, already realizing he'll have to hose down the outside of his creation once he gets back.

Tony is so busy trying to extract himself from the sucking sludge under him that he doesn't pay attention to the bulky shape that is moving behind him and nudges his shoulder until contact is made. He turns and sees the wall of black muscle; hears the heavy snuffling of wide nostrils in line of sight.

"Shit!"

The bull is merely curious about this odd metal-smelling thing. He ambles closer, pushing against it and past it, ignoring the stream of curses that echo out of the top.

Tony wonders if he'll have to hose out the *inside* of the suit as well. He manages to free himself and tramp his way towards the porch of the farm, setting down the reinforced cardboard box on the topmost step before stepping back. Infrared shows him there are two people in the house, both of them horizontal and so probably sleeping. He looks again at the box to make sure it's in an obvious place, then tromps off to the gravel driveway before taking off.

A backward glance shows him the lights going on in the house-

So much for stealth.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper recognizes Tony's precise engineer's printing on the box, spelling out her name, Ms. V. Potts C/O Mrs. Ruby Cozlinski, Kiowa Kansas. She sighs and opens it, expecting paperwork, or possibly laundry; with Tony's sense of humor it's hard to anticipate what might show up on her doorstep. What she finds in the cardboard is a bottle of high grade sunscreen, a copy of The Wizard of Oz, and the newest Astrabella shoe catalog, complete with gift card for an outrageous amount.

She feels her eyes well up; two parts caring one part corny—this is the new Tony Stark and it still takes some getting used to. Pepper takes the gifts inside and shows them to her aunt, who smirks in a very familiar way.

"Showed up to deliver it himself?" her Aunt Ruby ponders in a question and Pepper nods. The tracks through the pasture are clear enough, as are the ones through the gravel driveway.

"Yes."

"Startled Clarence too, by the look of it."

"At least he didn't leave the gate open—I'm not in the mood to round up a wandering Angus bull this morning," Pepper replies gently. Her aunt keeps scrambling eggs, and smirking.

"City man, is he?"

"Completely," Pepper tells her with a sigh. "He'd need a video orientation on how to collect eggs."

Aunt Ruby laughs and serves up an omelet, hot and fluffy. "Good lord, Ginnie—and yet he's a genius, you say?"

"He is."

"Ah well, that accounts for some of it, I guess. Geniuses can be pretty dense about the world outside their functions. If the man came back from Afghanistan in one piece, I reckon he's entitled to some leeway. More egg, hon?"

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper sets aside the catalog and picks up the yield book in her late uncle Jan's study. Her aunt has kept the records up, and it's depressing to see the numbers going down harvest after harvest. The stock is good, and the quality of the fertilizer and pesticides are consistent, but the weather and the markets fluctuate, most often downward. She tries to remember his lessons on economics and agriculture, his steady optimism in the face of unknown factors.

He was a good man, Pepper acknowledges, but not always a successful farmer.

The farm is in the red, she sees, and already owes the bank for last year's soybean crop. Her aunt hires out part of the pasturage to locals, and that that helps a bit, but the only thing selling well at the moment is corn, and that was underplanted last year in favor of oats. The livestock has dwindled down to fifteen good layers, a few geese here and there, and some mares being boarded for the neighbors. There's Clarence too—he's a prime breeder and his semen sells well to the dairies in-state, but other than that, the assets for her aunt's farm are few, and Pepper worries a bit.

She wanders out through the cornfield later in the day, breathing in the warm air, feeling a serenity in the quiet spaciousness of big sky over her. Pepper loves this land; loves the easy connection of earth to plant all around her. She realizes she's missed it over the years.

Life as Mr. Stark's PA is wonderful: always a challenge; a balancing act; a fast-paced course into the known and unknown sometimes, and she's grown accustomed to the demands it makes on her time and efficiency and intelligence. But there are very few quiet moments in the position, and although her boss is making a better effort to pace himself, Pepper realizes that she needs more of a balance to her life.

She needs something to call her own; an alternative project to managing Tony Stark.

Carefully Pepper studies the closest corn plant, running a hand over the budding ear nestled in its sheath of green leaves. She bends to sniff it, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed stalk. Pepper wishes Tony had plants at his house; she's never seen any and has never thought to ask him why. It's possible he doesn't like them, or that he's allergic to them. In any case, she decides to ask him about it when she returns.

That night her aunt Ruby bakes and sets aside a baker's dozen of her homemade chocolate chip cookies. She wraps them in wax paper and packs them in a cardboard box, which she leaves on the front porch with the name Anthony E. Stark carefully written on the top flap.

000ooo000ooo000

"I'm addicted. I need more."

"They're just cookies, Tony—I can make them for you when I get back."

"God yes. Please. They're incredible. I've never had oral orgasms before—"

"Tony!"

"Sorry, but that's about the most accurate description I can give without sounding like some sort of commercial."

"Yes, well I doubt Pepperidge Farm would use quite those terms."

"Pffft, Pepperidge Farm doesn't even come close to these masterpieces. Tell me, do you think I could talk your aunt into being my chef? Or at least my own personal baker? "

"No. You *had* a chef, and drove him to a nervous breakdown when you kept adding French's mustard to his cordon bleu meals, remember? I think we're still billed for his therapy sessions."

"Hey, I thought I was being culturally sensitive—French's with French."

"Not in this case, Mr. Stark."

"I need only the simplest things in life: a handful of these cookies, some plutonium, a remote control for the suit and a loyal personal assistant by my side. When are you coming home?"

She sighs. "Four days; you *know* that."

"Just checking."

000ooo000ooo000

The next time he calls, he gets the aunt. Ruby Cozlinski is far more practical than most of the women that Tony Stark has charmed, and her conversation with him initially consists of direct answers to his questions.

"Ma'am, where is Pepper?"

"Swimming down at the creek."

"Will she be gone long?"

"Hard to say; it's a scorcher today and she might stay a while."

"Have you ever considered baking cookies for a living?"

"Not particularly; the startup for that sort of venture isn't cheap and producing a specialty product requires a good marketing strategy on a two to three year plan."

"You're toying with me, aren't you, Mrs. Cozlinski?"

"Mr. Stark, you're crazy about my niece, so let's cut to the truth. Do you have serious intentions?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now stop trying to butter me up and get back to doing whatever it is that makes you your money. Pepper deserves the chance to skinny dip without either one of us fretting about it, right?"

"Gah. Skinny dipping?"

"Grow up, Mr. Stark. And I'm glad you liked the cookies, young man. Goodbye."

000ooo000ooo000

The image of prim and proper Pepper Potts cavorting out in the open, naked, is one that won't leave him. Tony suspects the aunt of deliberately planting it, and he credits the old lady with a deft evilness that her niece clearly has inherited. He wonders if Pepper will mention swimming in their next conversation, and blush when she does.

He wishes like hell he could see it.

But while money and fortune and a flying suit can do a lot of things, they can't grant this particular wish, and Tony tries hard to banish the thoughts of pale wet skin and concentrate instead on the things he's supposed to be doing. Fortunately most of it consists of things he CAN do by rote: maintenance on the cars, working on a more comfortable helmet lining for the suit, and an upgrade of the compound's security links. Tony goes through the motions, paying just enough attention to do a good job, and lets the rest of his mind dwell on thoughts of Pepper, naked on the bank of a Kansas creek.

That night he has an erotic dream about her, and wakes up moments before orgasm, the sheer power of it enough to leave him gasping as he slumps back in damp sheets, embarrassed and amused at the same time. Tony hasn't had a wet dream in years, and despite all the women, of course it would come down—or up, in this case—to the thought of long-legged freckled, sweet Pepper Potts, skinny dipping.

Tony lumbers off to the bathroom to clean up, smirking to himself, wishing he could tell her, and knowing at least for now, he can't.

_Chapter 3_

"So, do anything exciting today?"

"Um, no. Not really. Took a long horseback ride around the property."

"Annnnnd that's all?" he fishes pointedly.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Hot out there in Kansas? I hear it gets to triple digits this time of year."

"It's pretty warm, yes. Grrrrr."

"What's wrong? That's a frustrated noise, Potts. Miss me that much?"

"I need about three more Cham fourteen Dees, and the box is empty."

"Wait, wait—fourteen Dees, those would be for, God, a tractor? You're changing spark plugs in a tractor, Pepper?"

"Yep. A nineteen eighty-two International Harvester, and it's NOT being cooperative at the moment. Hang on."

Tony hangs on, feeling a rush of something odd in his chest; something unrelated to the arc reactor. He can so clearly picture Pepper standing on one tire, leaning in under the propped hood, cell phone in one hand, spark plug in the other.

"A new box will run you about fourteen bucks, with tax," he murmurs. "I'm sure your local Hayseed market has them."

"Un-huh," comes Pepper's preoccupied murmur.

Tony smirks. "Or, I could have a brand new John Deere delivered within the hour, Ms. Potts, right off the assembly line."

"No thank you, Mr. Stark. Big Red here still has plenty of life, if I can get the rest of the plugs. Aren't you supposed to be playing golf with the CEO of IBM this afternoon?"

"Eh, Sammy had an emergency root canal, so he cancelled."

There is a banging sound, followed by a few soft grunts of exertion that send a pang of arousal through him; Pepper and machinery are having an effect and he clears his throat. "What are you wearing?"

Pepper gives a startled laugh. "Overalls."

"Why am I finding that incredibly hot?"

"Beee-cause you're a libido-driven engineer with too much testosterone. Oh!"

"Was that a good oh or a bad oh? Talk to me, Potts—"

"Bleeding. I'll talk to you later," comes the brisk voice before the line cuts dead. Tony feels cold panic wash over him again, and he dials the house line, willing the old woman to pick up the line.

"Hell-"

"Pepper's with the tractor and she's bleeding," Tony urgently tells the aunt.

"How badly?" comes the calm but serious question.

"God, I don't know—she hung up on me!"

"All right. I'll go find her and dial for emergency if it's bad. You stay put and I'll call to let you know what the situation is. I owe you one, young man."

Tony paces, feeling his pulse in his ears. This is even worse than the first time Pepper got hurt, because at least then he was THERE and could DO something. But now he's stuck doing the one thing he hates more than anything else in the world: waiting. It crosses his mind that farms are too damned dangerous—bulls and nails and tractors and saws and isolation.

None of that makes any sense he realizes a moment later. He checks the cell phone, mentally *willing* it to ring, and in a moment of clarity he understands-

-this is what Pepper goes through every time he heads out on a mission.

Tony stops, stunned. This is why she's short and brusque at times; why she fights back sniffles and fluctuates between being a silent shadow and a clucking hen when he returns, battered, exhausted and grim.

He never really *thought* what it was like from her side before, and for a long moment the bitter tang of regret makes his mouth cottony.

Tony would save her this pain if he could.

But he can't.

The cell phone trills, cutting into his thoughts and he nearly drops it, fumbling frantically to get it to his ear. "Yeah, hello?"

"She's fine," comes the practical report. "Gashed her thumb."

In the background he can hear Pepper, protesting. "You don't have to tell him!"

"Yes I do, hon. The man was worried."

There's a rattle and fumble over the line and then Pepper's voice, breathless and embarrassed. "Mr. Stark, I'm perfectly all right."

"Well that's great. Glad to hear it considering you announced you were *bleeding* and proceeded to HANG UP on me, Potts. Jesus, just run me through a bandsaw in your spare time, why don't you?"

"Tony, it's *nothing*"

"I'll believe it when I see it. I'm coming out there."

"Right *now?*" she sounds scandalized, but he feels better having decided.

"Right now. ETA seventeen minutes. Hey, is that enough time for your aunt to bake cookies?" he adds, and because he's still slightly angry, Tony hangs up, making the phone snap in his hand.

He hasn't been this pettishly impulsive in ages, and while he knows he should be a bit ashamed of crowding into Pepper's privacy, a stronger need to assure himself she's all right is predominant. Tony suits up and rockets away, preparing himself for the stern looks sure to come once he lands.

000ooo000ooo000

Seventeen minutes is just long enough for Pepper to finish bandaging her thumb, shoo her aunt back into the house, and mentally prepare a quick lecture for a Certain Person Who Shouldn't Be Wasting His Time or Resources Investigating a Minor Boo-Boo.

She still feels an exasperated thrill though, at his concern. Having spent quite a bit of time bandaging up said Certain Person's injuries has given her some perspective on it all, and it's making her heart beat a little faster to know Tony is on his way.

Which is silly. She slipped, caught her thumb along the edge of the battery and it's no big deal. A couple of band aids and she's fine.

The low sound of a rocket makes her turn her face upward, and she watches with a lump in her throat as the red and gold streaks through the sky and begins a descent towards her. Alarmed, Clarence lows in his pasture, and Pepper can hear the horses in the barn stalls stamping around a bit.

She moves away from the tractor, shading her eyes as Tony lands; a little ungracefully, but given the suit, understandable. As the dust starts to settle, Pepper watches the mask unlocks and rise to reveal a familiar and amazingly dear face.

Impish eyes.

"You really *are* wearing overalls," comes his first observation. "And I was right. You look hot."

"It's a farm," Pepper offers by way of explanation, her smile gentle.

"Yeah, I sort of caught on to that, actually. The fields, the barn, the two thousand pound pot roast out in the meadow—"

"Hey, my aunt Ruby's Clarence is a registered Angus bull and a prime semen donator," Pepper replies and blushes scarlet as she finishes. Tony's mouth twists in a knowing smirk and he lets his gaze move off towards the fields.

"I'd say something about having a common hobby but I get the feeling I'll get the evil eyeroll if I do, and in any case I'm here to see your thumb, Potts. Let's have it."

Glad for a change of subject, Pepper holds out her hand. The gash is on her unbroken limb, and covered neatly in band aids that Tony examines with some exasperation. "Okay, I haven't quite got the x-ray vision yet, and my manual dexterity in these gauntlets isn't dainty enough to peel off the gauze—"

Pepper sighs. She carefully lifts a corner of one band-aid and shows the wound . . . all inch and a half of it, a pink-edged cut along the side of her thumb. Tony scrutinizes it, and for a moment Pepper watches him standing there as the unreality of it dawns on her.

Yeah. A man in a self-contained mechanized suit, armed to the teeth taking his time looking over a tiny cut. A puff of breeze from the oat fields blows by, ruffling Tony's bangs for a moment.

"Are you sure it even *bled*?" he murmurs skeptically. "Because this looks pretty small, and believe me, I know bleeding."

"I *told* you it wasn't worth the trip!" Pepper begins, exasperated and rising to the bait. Tony grins and lifts her hand, lightly, gently kisses her thumb, lingering over it. Pepper stares, a little jolt darting through her at the warmth of his lips.

"Ohhh . . . . stop that," she tells him weakly, trying to tug her hand away.

"Motor oil—my favorite perfume," he murmurs back, "Let me guess; summerweight number five?"

"Stop," Pepper repeats, a little breathlessly. "I'm perfectly all right, so thank you for your concern and I have three days left of my leave, so . . ."

"Yeah I get it," Tony mumbles, still holding her hand. "Actually, I should probably take off, since you've got a mobile news van headed this way."

Pepper gives a sigh and doesn't *quite* roll her eyes. Tony smirks for a moment, watching her.

"Oh give it up, Potts. You really do need to just let it out and yell at me once in a while. You're on vacation; cut loose!"

"Don't tempt me," she snaps, but smiles, cocking her head. "Three days, Mr. Stark, and don't be late. I'll have cookies."

"Consider me there already," Tony assures her. "No more slicing yourself up on farm equipment, okay? I'm a busy man, I can't keep dashing out here to kiss your boo-boos."

He closes his faceplate to the sight of her outraged splutters and grins. Pepper moves back and watches him rocket off, heading west just as the Channel 60 news mobile turns off of Crane Road.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper and her aunt wash the dinner dishes in silence. Ruby managed to talk the reporters into staying for supper, and given that it was her nearly legendary chicken pot pie, it wasn't difficult.

Kiowa is still a small place, Pepper acknowledges to herself with a grin, and word of good food gets around.

She wipes the last plate and stacks it in the cupboard as her aunt clears her throat.

"So, Ginnie," the older woman begins.

Pepper braces herself. "Yes?"

"About your Mr. Stark," Ruby begins, deliberately not looking at her niece.

"What about him? Other than he's impulsive, undisciplined and addicted to your cookies."

"Has he ever been married?"

"What? Um, no," Pepper replies, startled. "Not even close."

"I figured," her aunt murmurs. "Not for lack of gals out there angling for him, I suppose."

"Well yes," Pepper agrees, wiping down some of the silverware. She's wondering exactly where this conversation is going. "He does have a reputation as a ladies man."

"Tom cat more like," Ruby snorts, pulling out the stopper for the sink. "I've seen him in all those rag papers at the supermarket—that is, I *used* to. Not that I pick them things up you know. Mostly I just scan 'em while I'm waiting in line."

"Um hum," Pepper smiles to herself and wipes down the salad bowl. Outside the sky is getting dark, and she knows a storm is rolling in.

The news van reporters mentioned it would be a big one.

"He isn't in the rags much anymore," Ruby continues quietly. "At least not in the photos with gals hanging off of each arm."

"Nope," Pepper agrees shortly. "But with Tony, that could simply be a phase."

Aunt Ruby turns and shoots Pepper a look so skeptically dry it could qualify as Death Valley all on its own. "Oh yes, and Clarence out there *could* be one of those little yappy purse dogs, but I seriously doubt it, Ginnie. It seems your Mr. Stark truly *has* changed."

"He's not *my* Mr. Stark," Pepper murmurs in annoyance, but her aunt laughs without humor.

"Good golly, try telling *him* that. The man just flew twenty six hundred miles round trip to look at your *thumb,* honey. He's smitten with you, he is and you can't tell me anything different."

Pepper is quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out what to say. She's never let herself really hope that Tony would give up his womanizing, but her aunt is right; the man has changed.

She takes her time shelving the salad bowl on top of the old refrigerator. "Okay, yes, he's different. But that doesn't mean our situation—his and mine—really has. Oh he counts on me a little bit more, and I put in extra time, but he's still my boss, Aunt Ruby, and I'm well-aware of that. We're not . . . you know."

"Shacking up?" This earns the older woman a slightly scandalized glance, and her thin shoulders shake at the sight of Pepper's blush. "Isn't that what your generation calls it? Or what's that other term I heard the other day—calling a booty?"

"That's making a booty call, and NO, that's NOT our situation at ALL," Pepper splutters, only a giggle away from laughing out loud. "I can't believe you *said* that!"

"I watch television," Aunt Ruby sniffs, "I'm old, not *dead,* Ginnie girl."

"I know," her niece replies, "But in any case, it's just not . . . smart . . . to get involved with a person you work for."

There is a long silence after this; Aunt Ruby wrings out a sponge and carefully wipes down the dining room table, sweeping the crumbs off the flowered vinyl tablecloth into one arthritic hand. She gives a little sigh and finally speaks. "Welllll, that's a matter of common sense, and nine times out of ten I'd back you to the hilt, honey. Falling for the boss is a dangerous situation, I agree. But I'm not so sure that Mr. Stark is your boss anymore."

Pepper blinks and slips into one of the kitchen chairs, her mouth slightly pursed. Aunt Ruby shrugs and continues. "Sure you help the man run his business and keep things moving smoothly for him, but you stood by him when he was gone, Ginnie. Employees don't do that. You waited for him to come back. You know who does that? A wife does."

"No, that's—" Pepper protests, her face flushing, but her aunt cuts her off with a look so calm and wry that Pepper's words die away as the old woman speaks again.

"Oh I suppose the right term is 'significant other' or whatever else you all want to call it, but it's as much a commitment as anything churchified. That man," Aunt Ruby gives a grim little grin, "realized what he had in you when he was held by those terrorists, and by God he's working hard not to lose you, honey. Mr. Stark loves you and he just hasn't got the balls to admit it yet. Now why do you think that is?"

Before Pepper can draw a breath and answer, the white-hot flash of lightning flares through the kitchen window over the sink, followed a few seconds later by a boom of thunder that rattles the cupboards. Both women look up, and begin to move.

"I'll secure the barn," Pepper announces, moving to the back door and reaching for the rain slicker hanging on the hook. Her aunt nods, and is already fishing for the kerosene lantern from the storm closet. As Pepper opens the door, a gust of cold air sweeps into the kitchen, and Aunt Ruby shivers.

000ooo000ooo000

They sit huddled in the storm cellar under the kitchen, sipping tea and listening to the Storm Prediction Center on the battery radio along with the hard rush of water. Pepper hunches a bit, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders; she's never liked thunder much.

Finally her aunt puts down her knitting and cocks an ear. "Pffft, not much left to it. We'll have some clean-up in the morning, but this one's just a hard spring rain. Mark my words, we're safe."

Pepper nods. Her aunt has always had the ability to call storms well, and the susurration is softening overhead. "It did come on pretty fast, though."

"Isn't the season for twisters, and we had a mild winter," Aunt Ruby replies confidently. "Nope, This 'un was just a good spring drenching."

When the winds begin to die down, Pepper and her aunt climb the wooden stairs up to the kitchen. The power is still out, but when Pepper checks on the livestock out in the barn by heavy-duty flashlight they're all well, including Clarence, who playfully licks her fingers with his hot, rough tongue through the bars of his stall.

The night sky is clearing, with a few stars beginning to show through the clouds, and the big storm cell is drifting to the northeast now, a heavy dark smudge on the horizon.

Pepper smiles. The air smells clean, and although she notes some damage around the place, it's nothing that can't be picked up or mended in the next few days. She looks out over the oat field and knows how good the rain will be for the crop.

As she detours to the kitchen garden out back and inspects the battered tomato plants, it dawns on Pepper that *this* is what she's going to miss when she returns to Malibu and the high-tech profession waiting for her there.

This connection to the land. To the growing things. To the very basics that nurtured her youth and are still rooted, truthfully, in her. Pepper gives a sigh, and begins to pick up a few of the fallen tomatoes, collecting them absently.

000ooo000ooo000

Jarvis mentions the storm to Tony in the morning update; Tony is not pleased. "I consider that to be significant! You should have told me sooner!"

"To what end, sir? You cannot change the weather, nor can you fly safely through it. The damage reports are minor, and Mrs. Clozlinski's farm is relatively unscathed except for some flattening of the fencing surrounding her property."

Tony scowls at himself as he shaves. Normally he would be finished by now and out the door if Pepper was here to ride his ass, but he's let his dawdling get the better of him these last two weeks. Since Happy is more than happy to catch up on his Sudoku while waiting out in the limo, it works for both of them.

"Maybe not, but I could have gotten them OUT of there before it hit," Tony counters, "*that* might have been a good plan."

"Including the livestock?" Jarvis queries, sounding every so slightly chiding.

Tony scowls. "Nobody likes a smartass AI, Jarvis."

"On the contrary, as I recall, Ms Potts has often expressed her fondness and gratitude towards myself—"

Tony ignores this and finishes shaving. By the time he's done and dressed, Happy has made his way through four puzzles. Tony gives his orders in monosyllabic grunts that his driver easily deciphers.

They go through the Burger King drive-through—not an easy maneuver for a stretch limousine—and by the time they reach Stark Industries, Tony chooses to throw himself fully into work. His justification is that not only will it help pass the time until Pepper returns, but also that it will please her that he's kept up on the most important things.

Besides, he tells himself, if he gets a jump on the workload, he can justify taking a day or two off, right around the time he plans to pick Pepper up.

This is a good plan, and Tony slogs his way through what needs to be done, ignoring the emptiness at not having his personal assistant flanking him through the day.

By evening he's not so much tired as he is frustrated. The board is being obstinate without Pepper to smooth things over, and the remote for the suit isn't living up to the specs just yet. Tony wishes Rhodey had the night off, but there's some sort of event going on at the base and the man's presence is needed there . . .

The urge to snoop is coming over him, and Tony sighs, settling down in his living room. He speaks softly. "Jarvis, order me a full takeout from WonTon William, heavy on the Kung Pao. And tell me what you know about the current Cozlinkis of Kiowa Kansas."

"Very well . . ." comes the cultured voice. A few moments later, Jarvis begins reciting the facts. "Janos Cozlinski was a second generation American born in Barber County, Kansas in nineteen thirty three. His family has owned the farmstead there for the last one hundred and thirty years, approximately. He graduated Medicine Lodge High School in nineteen fifty-six and married fifteen year old Ruby Eleanor Potts a year later. While enrolled at Texas A and M, Janos Cozlinski was drafted by the army and served two tours of duty in Vietnam."

"Vietnam?" Tony murmurs gently, moved.

"From nineteen sixty-three through nineteen sixty-eight. He was wounded twice, and honorably discharged November fourteenth, nineteen sixty-eight. Shall I continue?"

"Please."

"He and his wife Ruby have two children, Paul, a lawyer in Saint Louis Missouri, and Jacob, deceased. Miss Potts is the niece of Ruby Cozlinski Nee Potts."

"Hmmm," Tony mumbles, thinking hard. "And the Potts—are they from Kiowa too?"

"Just a moment while I access genealogical records . . ." Jarvis replies. A few seconds later he speaks again. "Originally from the south of England, the Potts immigrated to the United States shortly after the War of 1812 and moved west. The last three generations have settled in Barber County exclusively, and Ms Potts' relatives owned land adjacent to that of the Cozlinskis up until the last twenty years."

"Ah." Tony isn't sure he wants to hear much more; in all the years he's worked with Pepper, he only knows the bare facts: both parents deceased, no brothers or sisters.

Something they have in common, sadly.

Jarvis, however continues to speak. "Virginia Caroline Potts is the only child of Andrew and Pearl Potts, deceased. Ms. Potts attended Franklin High School and is a graduate of the University of Kansas."

"How did . . ."

"Andrew Potts died of a heart attack; his wife died several years later of breast cancer," Jarvis replies. "Both of them were cremated, as per their wishes."

Tony is silent again, feeling old pain merging with new pain. Since Afghanistan he has been thinking more and more of his own parents; certain memories coming back with sweet clarity. He has Yensin to thank for that, and Tony appreciates the man's wisdom yet again.

"Current financial records indicate that the Cozlinski farm is moderately in debt to the Farmer's Credit Union of Kiowa," Jarvis continues. "Mrs. Cozlinski has been attempting to renegotiate her debt recently."

Tony blinks. "Is Pepper aware of this?"

"That information is not available," Jarvis responds, in a slightly apologetic tone.

The living room is silent for a long time; Tony begins to pace, moving towards the front door at just the right speed to reach it when the doorbell rings. The security monitor shows the deliveryman from WonTon William standing there, and Tony grins.

Timing is everything.

He pays the man, takes the food and comes back to the living room.

He unpacks the kung pao, and looks out over the sunset over the Pacific ocean. "Tell me, Jarvis—what is the status for Stark Industry's meteorological research program?"

_Chapter 4_

Timing is everything, and Tony realizes how carefully he has to play this. He calls mid-morning, and since it's the house line, he succeeds in getting the aunt.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cozlinski."

"Morning, Mr. Stark. Ginnie—Pepper to you, I 'spose-is out right now, should I take a message?"

"Actually, *you* were the person I wanted to talk to," Tony begins, and keeps his voice professional. This is one sharp old woman, and he doesn't want to get on her bad side, now or ever.

"Is that a fact?" comes the little harrumph. "Speak your piece then."

"I have a business proposition. You're free to say no and I'll accept that, it's your prerogative, but I'd appreciate a chance for you to hear me out."

A sigh comes over the line. "A business proposition?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Better come to supper then. We're eating at six o'clock sharp, pork roast."

Tony tries to thank her but she's hung up already.

He grins.

000ooo000ooo

Pepper isn't sure how she feels about her aunt's announcement that Tony will be joining them for dinner. On one hand, she's still got another day of leave here at the farm, and it's just *like* Tony to try and manipulate her into leaving early.

He was probably the sort of kid who snuck downstairs at midnight on Christmas Eve to check his presents, Pepper guesses to herself dourly, impatient and determined to get his own way.

Nothing new about that.

On the other hand, she can't deny a little frisson of pleasure too, at the thought of having him sit down to dinner at the dining room table and take in exactly why this place means something to her. Tony is intuitive and under it all, empathetic. Despite his wealth, he relates well to all sorts of people, and Pepper is curious to see how he and her aunt get along.

At five o'clock, a rental car makes the turn from Crane Road, and Pepper watches from the barn as Tony pulls up and climbs out of the PT Cruiser, looking around. Sunglasses of course, and a good suit. Nothing in the upper hundreds, but nice enough to make an impression. Pepper snickers at his sneakers; clearly his earlier landing in Clarence's pasture had him rethink his dress code.

Pepper watches him pick up a spring bouquet from the car, make his way to the porch and knock before she comes out of the barn. The door of the house opens, and Pepper sees her aunt stand there, sizing Tony up before taking the flowers and offering him a hand.

Moving closer, she hears part of their exchange.

" . . . again for the cookies. I enjoyed them, thoroughly."

"You're welcome."

Her aunt has never been one for small talk. Pepper sees her awkwardly look her way and nod. "You're welcome to set in the parlor or on the porch if you'd like. I've got put these in water and sinner stuffing to make yet, so maybe Ginnie can show you around."

"Sure," Pepper agrees, stepping up on the porch and shooting Tony an amused glance. "We'll get the late eggs and some of those green beans you wanted."

"Late eggs?" Tony questions, his glance interested. He nods to Aunt Ruby and follows Pepper off the porch, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets. They wander off as Aunt Ruby heads back into the farmhouse.

"So. You look rested. And may I add that your plaid shirt and braids are giving me some evil thoughts?"

"You *always* have evil thoughts," Pepper reminds Tony, but she smiles, because despite her earlier misgivings, it IS good to see him.

"Seriously, the braids? Very cute," he murmurs, almost shyly.

Pepper smiles again; she hasn't worn braids in years, but they feel right for here and now. She picks up one of the felt-lined baskets hanging off the fencepost to the yard and opens the gate, stepping in carefully. "I'm glad to see you've thought about your footwear."

"Yeah, while I want to make a good impression, I'm not totally stupid," he admits, watching Pepper with fascination as she moves towards what looks like a playhouse in the middle of the enclosed yard.

Pepper deftly lifts a hinged section of the roof and reaches inside, moving slowly. "Scoot over, Ethel and let me check," she murmurs.

"Ethel?"

"Ethel. We have Ethel, Edna, Erma, Enid and Elaine. This is Aunt Ruby's fifth generation of layers, and she goes alphabetically," Pepper offers up. Tony purses his mouth in a serious effort not to laugh; he nods gravely instead.

"And the, ah, rooster?"

"Cranston. He's been around since the third generation."

"Nice to see the old guard at work," Tony smirks at the rooster, who is eyeing him suspiciously. Tony comes to Pepper's side; she nods, and he gently reaches down into a nest box, picking up a warm, heavy egg, and setting it into her basket. They collect six in all.

"So what makes these late eggs? Aside from the fact that they're going to get eaten."

"They're laid late in the day."

"Ah." Tony nods; this makes sense, and he looks around for a long moment, taking in his surroundings once more, taking in a deep breath. "This place is . . . nice."

There's something in his voice that touches her; a sincerity that has her blinking for a moment.

"Yes," Pepper replies simply.

They take the eggs to the porch, leaving the basket by the door and then Pepper motions to the barn. "Come meet the rest of the gang."

"All our barnyard friends?" Tony inquires, a trifle sardonically. "Peter Porker and Larry Lamb?"

Pepper turns away, leading towards the barn, moving a little faster than usual, forcing Tony to increase his stride to keep up. "Hey, kidding, all right? Kindly remember, city boy here. I'm used to seeing my hamburgers in cardboard boxes, not on the hoof."

"I don't think Clarence will fit in a cardboard box," Pepper replies a little tartly, but as she leads Tony towards the paddock gate, she finally smiles. The Angus comes towards her, huge and slow, tail flicking back and forth. Pepper reaches out and pats his nose; Tony holds back a bit, and she realizes he's staring at Clarence.

But not at the end with the face.

"Wow. O-kaaay, intimidated now. Don't think I'll be complaining about the suit codpiece anymore."

"Tony!"

"Hey, that is a lot of bull," he points out with that dry sincerity he does so well. "Just wanted you to see I'm observant."

"He's a stud," she murmurs weakly, aware of how red her face is, and how Tony is loving her embarrassment.

"You're telling *me.*"

"Stop it and help me by opening the gate, all right?" Pepper figures that's the easiest job and the sooner they get Clarence settled, the better. Tony obliges and Pepper carefully snaps the lead onto Clarence's muzzle. He follows her through the gate and into the barn, taking his own sweet time, checking out the mares in each stall before finally settling into his own.

Clarence, Pepper laughs to herself, reminds her of someone.

When she comes out, Tony is in the barn, quietly stroking the velvety nose of one of the mares, his touch sure and gentle. "Took riding at prep school," he offers by way of explanation. "I was better at cleaning stalls than taking riding."

"You rode?"

"Sort of," he admits. "My mother . . . well, she used to show horses. Dressage."

It's only the third time in all the years she's known him that Tony's ever offered up information about his mother, and Pepper is touched. After a moment of quiet, she points with her chin to the animal he is petting. "That's Calpurnia; we board her for the Meyers."

Pepper takes him around the barn, giving a brief history of all the animals in it, and by the time they finish and step out, she looks to the sky. "Just enough time to get the beans."

"You're really into this, aren't you?" Tony murmurs, turning a soft gaze on her, and Pepper ducks her head, not willing to admit it. Instead, she hands him a bucket and leads the way to the back of the farmhouse, where the garden is.

It's a quarter acre, naturally fenced in by high grape trellises on three sides, and Pepper waves a hand towards it with pride. "Aunt Ruby's had this garden for nearly thirty-five years, and at the moment it's got fifteen different vegetables in it, but we're only nabbing green beans."

"Green beans," Tony murmurs with all the balkiness of an eight-year old.

Pepper puts her hands on her hips and shoots him a glare. "Not like any green beans you've ever had, Tony. Fresh makes a world of difference. Besides, *I'm* cooking these, so you'll eat them and *like* them, got it?"

Sighing, he gives her a mock-salute and trails after her towards the rows, admiring her ass as she bends over to pluck at the runners. Pepper's backside has always been a thing of beauty, but as it is now, encased in jeans, with just a hint of exposed dimple at the base of her spine between her untucked shirt and beltline is enough to make Tony's pulse jump a bit.

This is a spot he would love to kiss.

"Stop looking at my butt and start picking, Mr. Stark," Pepper calls over her shoulder. Guiltily, Tony moves to the other side of the row and begins to help.

000ooo000ooo000

By the time dinner is on the table and everyone's hands are washed, Tony has a pretty good idea of exactly how Ruby Potts Cozlinski has managed to keep her farm going.

Things are well-used, but well-cared for, and hard work seems to be the standard. He looks to his hostess who has given him the seat of honor at the head of the table, and she nods. "If you'll say grace, Mr. Stark."

He draws a breath. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

It's been years, but it comes back easily; Pepper is shooting him a slightly startled look. Tony is pleased.

They pass biscuits and beans and butter around; Tony carves the roast, feeling by turns awkward and hungry because the rich scent of roast fills the air. Sinner's stuffing turns out to be dried apricots, apples and plums marinated in bourbon, and roasted up in the center of the butterflied pork. His stomach rumbles a little in anticipation.

The food is wonderful, even the beans, and for a while nobody talks much except to request an item or two. After a while, Aunt Ruby sighs and looks over at Tony, an alert look in her eyes. "All right, Mr. Stark, let's have it. What is this business proposition you have for me?"

Now Pepper looks more than startled; her expression is much closer to alarmed, and she nearly chokes on a mouthful of biscuit. Tony clears his throat and serves himself a second helping of pork roast.

"One of the subsidiary research areas Stark Industries supports is meteorology. Weather figures heavily into the design of rocketry, aerodynamics and radar refinement, and while my scientists rely heavily on the National Weather Service for their data, it would be more effective to collect part of it first-hand," Tony begins, slowly.

"Really?" the old woman asks in a curious voice. "Go on then."

"We have a few data collection stations across the United States, but most of them are on the two coasts, which limits our information. I also know that Kiowa is located well within Tornado Alley, and for that reason alone, a data collection site here would be invaluable not only to Stark Industries, but also for the SPC and the National Weather Service. What I propose is to station two of my meteorologists *here* to man a data collection center for all three agencies. I'm willing to lease your farm for the next fifteen years at twice the current land sale rate if you'll consent to the agreement, and allow my scientists to do so."

Aunt Ruby mulls this over as Pepper stares pointedly at Tony, her concern evident in her eyes. She speaks up. "Tony—Mr. Stark—"

"Now, Ginnie," Aunt Ruby murmurs softly. "The man is our guest. Let's consider this thing for just a moment. You want to lease this place for fifteen years?"

Tony nods. "Yes."

"What about the crops?" she asks him quietly.

Tony blinks a little. "Er, well you'll harvest them? My scientists would take up maybe a half acre, tops, with a weather station we can situate anywhere on the property that's out of your way, Mrs. Cozlinski. The rest of the farm would still be very much under your care and management, ma'am."

Pepper's shoulders relax visibly, and Tony eats another mouthful of green beans, partly to appease her, and mostly because they're good.

Damn it.

Aunt Ruby slowly cuts the section of pork on her plate into dainty bites. "Mr. Stark, you're clearly a kind man, but in terms of business sense, I'm not sure your proposal is wise. There are lots of farms around here hurting, and while I appreciate your offer, I won't take charity."

"Oh this isn't charity," Tony shoots back, "Not at all. By county assessment, your farm is the smallest acreage for this area, which saves me money right there. The other advantage is that your property is already wired for cable, which means less outlay for me, and the data transmission won't be a problem."

Aunt Ruby arches an eyebrow at him, and the gesture is so eerily similar to Pepper's that he coughs a little. "Is that a fact? You've looked into this pretty carefully, haven't you, Mr. Stark?"

Tony thinks of a thousand replies to this, but in the end, nods.

Pepper speaks up, her voice soft but her words probing. "Are you talking about putting Emily and Charles out here?"

"The Mortensens, yeah," Tony murmurs. "Charles could use the change of scenery; I think he's burning out being under Mitch."

"A married couple?" Aunt Ruby comments, receiving nods from both Pepper and Tony. "And you'd want me to put them up here, is that it?"

"No, no, we have a generous housing allowance for our employees—" Tony begins, but he's cut off by a wave of Aunt Ruby's fork.

"Ah! Not practical, especially if they're going to be coming out to the property every day. This house has five bedrooms, Mr. Stark, and I don't mind the company, if they're willing to stay." She pauses for a moment, shooting a tender look at her niece. "I've missed having someone else about the place."

"Mrs. Cozlinski, in all sincerity, that's *not* required as part of the business proposition," Tony murmurs gently, but the woman purses her mouth in another expression familiar to him, and passes him more biscuits.

"Maybe not—there are a lot of details yet to work out, and not everything will be simple, but your offer is mighty tempting if it's on the up and up, what with the price of sorghum down and a crop of corn too small to do more than break even this year." She gives a sigh, and adds, "More lemonade for either of you?"

When she disappears into the kitchen for it, Pepper seizes the opportunity to lean over and stare at Tony. "I don't know what you *think* you're doing, Anthony Stark, but if you take over this farm, so help me, I'll-"

"You were right about the beans," Tony replies mildly. "As for the details, Jarvis has already sent them to your Blackberry, everything legit, reasonable and completely open for re-negotiation."

"So you *mean* it, about a mid-plains data station?" Pepper whispers hurriedly as her aunt returns. Tony gives a nod and holds out his glass, smiling.

Ruby refills it. "Chocolate four-layer cake for dessert after the dishes. Save room."

Tony gives a happy sigh. "I'll pace myself, thank you."

000ooo000ooo000

Aunt Ruby has waved off the offers to help with the dishes and sent the two of them out to the porch. Tony lounges next to Pepper on the swing, and Pepper tries to ignore him as she checks over the proposal outline on her PDA.

There are crickets chirping, and the soft sound of the wind along the rippling fields in the distance. Overhead, the mauve of twilight is dappled with a few stars. Tony shifts to make the swing rock a little, and the creak of it blends in with the other sounds.

Pepper pulls her feet up and clicks the Blackberry off. Neither of them speak for a moment, and then she gives a long, slow sigh.

Tony knows this is a pivotal moment; this little quiet space between them. He moves to take one of Pepper's hands just as hers reaches for his in the semi-darkness.

"I . . . I didn't ask you for this . . ." Pepper begins slowly. "This isn't—wasn't anything to do with you."

"Nope," Tony agrees, because it's true. He gives a sigh himself and adds, "But it's important, *very* important that you're happy. And to be happy, you need to know that the things you love are safe. This farm; your aunt. I can help with that. I *want* to help with that."

Pepper is silent, and he knows it's hard for her. One of the aspects of her personality that's always fascinated and frustrated him is her pride. Pepper has always made it clear that she can't be bought; that gifts and favors are only acceptable if there will be a chance for reciprocation.

Clearly this is a trait she's gotten from her aunt, and probably her parents, and while Tony admires her self-supportive nature, it can be slightly annoying. He clears his throat quietly. "If you aunt accepts, it's going to be a real benefit, especially to Charles Mortensen. I don't want to lose him to the National Weather Service just yet—it was *his* data that helped me figure out the best alloys for the Suit."

Her fingers tighten in his. "We had a storm yesterday. But—you *know* that, don't you?"

Tony says nothing, and is glad that in the semi-darkness she can't see his chagrined expression. Trust Potts to figure out the whole damned schematics of his offer. He hums a little innocent note and she laughs.

000ooo000ooo000

It's after the second bite of cake that Tony gets the call; he regretfully sets his fork down and dabs his mouth with his napkin. Pepper's lips tighten, but Aunt Ruby merely nods and rises, taking his plate gently. "I'll just wrap this up and send this along tomorrow with Ginnie then."

"I'm sorry—" Tony begins, wishing like hell that the alert hadn't happened, but his hostess looks at him with knowing eyes, her smile both kind and a little sad.

"I am too, but only for the loss of your company. If they're calling for you and your Suit, it's got to be pretty important. You go on then Mr. Stark, and save some lives, you hear me?"

"I'll do my best, Mrs. Cozlinski. And thank you for your hospitality. Pepper?"

She follows him to the rental car, listening to him as they both hurry. "—Suit's in the jet so I'll leave from the airport. I have no idea when I'll be back, so when I'm done, I'm going to head to Malibu, and leave the jet here for you to come back tomorrow."

"Right," Pepper agrees, and just before Tony ducks into the driver's seat, she catches his face in her hands and kisses him. His warm lips taste like chocolate cake and he's so startled by her impulse that he gasps.

That's all she needs, and Pepper slips her tongue into his mouth, letting it stroke against his in a long, lingering caress that makes him moan. She pulls away and steps back, just out of reach. Tony teeters between the car door and the seat, stunned. With a grin, Pepper holds out a hand, resting it against his chest where the arc reactor is. "Stay safe, Tony."

"Ahnhhh," he agrees, lost for a second, blinking at her. "Yeah. Safe. Tomorrow then Pepper. And I want cake. And another one of *those.* Pretty please."

The phone in his pocket beeps again, and with an oath, Tony buckles up and pulls out of the gravel drive, wheels spewing rocks in his wake.

Pepper watches the tail lights until they're gone.

She licks her smiling lips.

000ooo000ooo000

The last day is beautiful; clear sunrise, a light breeze blowing over the fields, chasing distant clouds through the skies. Pepper makes breakfast; French toast with butter and syrup. She and her aunt talk over Tony's offer, and they both agree it's generous.

"And fifteen years—oh that should see me through what's left of my lifetime, Ginnie girl," her aunt sighs.

"Don't *say* that!" Pepper scolds, reaching for the thin, arthritic hand close to hers on the table. Aunt Ruby clucks softly, her expression gentle.

"I'm not afraid of dying, hon. I'm afraid of dying in debt and leaving you and Paul to pay it off. He's been urging me to sell this place and move to an old folk's home for a while now, you know."

"Paul can go . . . suck on a lemon," Pepper finishes, although her stronger meaning is clear by the venom in her tone. Her aunt laughs heartily.

"My thoughts too, even though he *is* my boy and I love him dearly. Any word on Mr. Stark's mission?"

Pepper has gotten the PDA feed from Jarvis; her smile is tremulous. "He's managed to rescue the convoy and get them through to Jalalabad."

"Good," her aunt nods. "And he's all right?"

"As far as we know," Pepper replies, not really sure, but unwilling to share the burden of that uncertainty.

"You'll feel better when you see him," Aunt Ruby nods. "I understand that. You ought to take along *two* slices of cake then."

"Not too much," Pepper laughs, "otherwise he'll have trouble getting into his Suit."

For a second Aunt Ruby looks worried; when she realizes Pepper is teasing her, she shoots her niece a little 'humph!' and rises from the table, a small smile on her weathered face. "Oh Miss Saucy, for *that* I think I'll leave you the dishes while I go turn Clarence and the mares out."

It's not much of a threat, and Pepper watches her aunt from the kitchen window, feeling both glad and sad in one swirl of emotion within her. It will be hard to leave Kiowa this afternoon; this little break has been a soothing balm for a lot of tension in her life, Pepper knows.

But at the same time, the urge to get back to work is tugging at her; that desire to dive back into the chaotic jumble of Tony Stark's schedule and make sense of it.

Lord only knows what it looks like *now*, she frets.

And there's the other thing as well, Pepper admits to herself half in trepidation and half in delight. The impulsive thing that she's pretty sure Tony isn't *about* to ignore or forget.

The, um, kiss thing.

Pepper feels herself blush.

_Chapter 5_

Despite a series of homemade roadside mines, a twenty minute firefight with bazookas and AK47s, a two-hour escort duty for the ten truck of refugees and NATO personnel, Tony certainly hasn't forgotten. It's not foremost in his mind-survival is-but the lingering memory of Pepper's lips against his own, of her minx-like tongue teasing his is certainly *there* in an instant's recall.

He's dwelt on it off and on for hours now, and has learned that it's not a good thing to think of while in the Suit since it makes his pulse jump enough to have Jarvis asking about his health. Thinking about Pepper's kiss also makes his codpiece chafe, and Tony hopes he never has to share that aspect of his armor with anyone.

Tony is in a quandary; thrilled, fearful, elated and worried. Thrilled and elated for obvious reasons, clearly. That Potts has made the first move is more than he'd ever hoped for; a clear sign that she's finally seeing him the way he wants her to see him.

Changed.

Maybe even, worthy.

In any case, it's such a shift from any previous sorts of feelings he's ever had for a woman. Tony is honest enough to admit he's been a bastard about using young, pretty girls for a lot of his life. It was easy to attract them; money tended to do that, along with the lifestyle.

But they weren't relationships, not in any sense of the word. The rules were clear: sex, definitely, but more than that simply wasn't expedient or of interest. Tony genuinely couldn't relate to the women he bedded in his old, hedonistic days—none of them understood engineering or business management or the sublime beauty of four-wheel acceleration.

Not that those topics came up often in bed; not unless attempting a particularly exotic position counted as engineering.

To be fair, he admits to himself, he hadn't actually *tried* to build relationships either; too many times he'd been burned by discovering that he was being used himself, and after a few disastrous affairs in college, Tony decided that he would simply take love out of the equation. That policy had worked well for a longer time than he wanted to face up to.

And then Potts came into the picture. Virginia Caroline Potts, quiet, competent, gentle. A woman who took him for what he was and still came to work every day, smoothing out issues here, planning events and meetings there. Willowy yet strong. Patient to the nth degree, yet with enough of a sense of humor to give as good as he dished at times.

A woman he'd grown to rely on, and admire as time passed.

And the one woman who'd been in his thoughts all through his bleak captivity.

When Yinsen mentioned family, hers was the face Tony had thought of; not those of his parents or of Obadiah. Pepper with one little strand of hair falling loose from her bun, bent over her Blackberry, concentrating. A serene memory of the curve of her neck, and the sunlight making her strawberry hair gleam.

And God, the sight of her there, waiting as he limped off the plane—

That pretty much put everything into focus for him. The quiver of her bottom lip, her soft, so-close-to-tears voice had left him a goner in one blinding moment, and Tony Stark knew he was going to have to figure out this love thing, because it was right there, making his chest ache every time he looked at her.

Tony manages to get home, get out of his Suit and shower, then checks the time. Hours yet, and sleep is a clear priority, so he makes his way to the guestroom and collapses into the bed, pulling the flannel sheets and comforter around him as he drops off.

He dreams.

Later, much later, Tony muzzily opens his eyes, aware that the light has shifted and he can't tell if it's dusk or dawn. He's also aware that what has woken him up is a shift of weight on the mattress.

Tony breathes in the scent of Pepper, sun warmed and sweet, and for a moment he feels so much inside himself that he's trembling slightly. Then a cool hand touches his forehead, and he looks into her concerned eyes.

"Hey," she whispers. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good, I'm told," he replies with a little bluster in his weak grin. "I have references." It doesn't faze Pepper, who smiles for a moment, and slips her hand to the back of his neck. He loves her when she's casually dressed like this, in jeans and a simple grey top.

"You're warm. I think you're running a little fever," she murmurs back. "Want some water?"

He's reluctant to nod; if he does, she'll leave from her perch on the edge of the mattress. She hasn't commented about him being here instead of in his own room, and Tony's glad because he doesn't really quite have an explanation. Pepper moves to rise, having come to her own decision about the water.

Tony tries not to pout, and when he feels his lip threaten to quiver, he covers it by rubbing his nose. "Just dehydrated. I'll be fine."

"Hmmm," comes Pepper's knowing reply. She returns from his bathroom, paper cup in hand, and he drinks the contents down, grateful for it. Once he's done, Tony crumples it in his fist and tosses the wad towards the trash can. It just misses it, bouncing off the edge of the can and skittering onto the tile.

They both look at it.

"And you wonder why Phil Jackson hasn't called you yet," Pepper murmurs, deadpan.

Tony turns to glare at her, his stare nearly a match for hers. "Clearly, the light was in my eyes."

"Riiiight," she scoffs sweetly. "The light that isn't on in this room."

"Oh like *you* could do any better-" Tony shoots back, and Pepper saunters to the bathroom, gracefully bending to pick up the crumpled paper cup. She strides back out to stand next to the bed, gives a light overhand shot and even with the handicap of a cast, Pepper promptly sinks it into the center of the can.

"Ha."

"Pfft. You're standing. *I* am sitting. Makes all the difference, Potts."

"Fine." Pepper collects the cup again, and returns once more, waving to Tony to scoot over to make room. He does, aware that his boxers, while stylish, aren't covering quite as much as he'd like. Pepper slips out of her shoes and sits on the bed, gauging the distance for a moment.

Just as she moves to throw, Tony murmurs, "kiss."

The shot goes wild, flying up far too high and the crumpled cup ending up neatly hooked between the vanity bulbs of the bathroom mirror. "What?"

"Miss. I was betting you would," Tony replies smoothly. "Miss, that is."

Pepper's look is a mingling of suspicion and embarrassment. She looks as if she wants to say something, and knows anything she *does* say will lead right into a conversation she doesn't want to have—

-while in bed with Tony.

She scrambles off the mattress. Tony leans to stop her and gives a yelp as a knife of pain lances along the back of his ribs. The sound brings Pepper back, and she gestures for him to lean forward. Her gasp is soft and startled. "Oh Tony!"

"What?"

"You've got some sort of infection here—there's pus."

He makes a face and tries to look over his shoulder to where she's staring. "Damn. This means what I think it means, doesn't it?"

"We're going to get you seen."

000ooo000ooo000

Back in his hedonistic days before Tony had even conceived the Suit, he had a personal physician in Sean Granger. Sean Alonzo Granger was a long, lanky, red-haired Texan with a handlebar mustache and a dry outlook about his patient's risque lifestyle. He and Tony went back several years, when an ER visit after minor crash had the good doctor putting stitches into the young millionaire at three in the morning.

Tony had been impressed by Granger's sly sense of humor and efficient work; he arranged to make the man his primary physician on the coda of being on-call around the clock. The benefit to that clause was the money, which was substantial, and it allowed Granger to open a partnered practice anywhere he wanted.

Granger chose Long Beach, and teamed up with Saburrah Phair, a calm, intelligent GP with the patience of a lioness. Together they ran a community clinic with a clientele that paid on a sliding scale, and established themselves as dedicated caregivers. Doctor Phair, a small, fine-boned woman with a warm, direct gaze and a reputation for excellent care, understood her partner's private connection to the billionaire but didn't completely approve.

Even after the Suit and the advent of Iron Man on to the world scene, Doctor Phair still wasn't entirely won over, but she covered Granger's caseload when he was required to tend to Tony Stark, and on more than one occasion, she herself had had to care for the battered hero. Consequently, her initial mistrust of the man and his motives had softened. Not that she wanted to admit it, so she focused her criticism on the process of his heroics rather than his motives.

At the moment, both she and Granger are at the compound garage; Granger is disinfecting the cut along Tony's back while she is examining the Suit with a sense of disapproval.

"You don't remember cutting yourself at any point?" she asks again, her voice soft. Tony winces against the anticipated sting of treatment and shakes his head. Pepper, who is trying hard not to hover, looks to Granger, who nods his head toward a tray with gauze pads on it. She hands him one. Phair pulls a chair over and climbs on it to peer down into the open Suit. "This armor of yours has some sharp edges, Mr. Stark."

"They form a seamless seal better if they do . . . ow, ow, ow," comes his inhaled little yelp as Granger wipes down the newly irrigated wound with Septosol.

Granger snorts a little. "Oh stop bein' a baby, Iron Man."

"Stop searing my flesh with caustic agents then. I'm *not* a baby. Tell him, Pepper."

Pepper wisely says nothing. Phair bends down, her khimar nearly touching the Suit as she gives a deep sniff, then straightens up quickly, her expression slightly grim. "Ohhhh dear. Mr. Stark, tell me; do you clean this armor? The inside, specifically?"

"The outside gets washed down after every mission. As for the inside, I wear a neoprene liner that absorbs anything I sweat or bleed in it."

"Hmmm." She shoots an insightful look at Granger, who nods.

He begins to tape the bandage into place over the cut and speaks up. "And you wash that ol' liner regularly, right?"

Tony's guilty silence is answer enough, and both doctors are shaking their heads now. Phair climbs down from the chair and tidily puts it back near the worktable. "Where is the liner now, Mr. Stark?"

He points towards a doorway. "I was *getting* to it—I've been busy lately," Tony sulks.

"Sanitation is nothing you can put off, Mr. Stark. Clearly you cut yourself, and the close, airless contact with a bacteria-laden surface is responsible for your infection," Doctor Phair chides him softly. "I would recommend you get yourself at least three liners and rotate them so that you always have a clean, sterile one for use."

"Noted," Pepper murmurs, glad to have something to do. She has her Blackberry out and is already typing. Tony has the grace to look sheepish, and nods. Granger finishes up with the cut and reaches into his bag once more, pulling out a hypodermic and a refridgerated pouch; seeing it, Tony makes an unhappy face.

"Can't I just get pills?"

"Oh you'll be getting those too, but this here is a tetnus booster," Granger drawls. "Seeing as how your immunization records are a mite spartan, sport."

"Oh come on, Granger-can't I bribe you out of this?" Tony asks hopeful for a moment. Granger ignores him and neatly loads the hypodermic. Doctor Phair has a prescription pad out and is filling it out in her graceful printing. She holds it out, and Pepper is torn between taking it, or going to stand next to Tony as he proffers his arm to Granger and grits his teeth.

She moves to the man, reaching down to turn his face up to hers, away from watching the injection. "I didn't know you were afraid of needles, Tony."

"I'm *not*," he rasps back. "I'm just not crazy about being pierced by them, that's—ow!"

"Yah know, Saburrah, I think I jest figured out why he *needs* that armor," Granger murmurs to his partner, who fights not to smile.

"I think Mr. Stark has been pierced much more than any of us ever will be, and as such is entitled to flinch," she replies, her gaze on the arc reactor for a moment.

"Gotta point," Granger agrees grudgingly. "Okay Stark, once you get some antibiotics goin'—and you take them *all* you hear me—you'll be feelin' a lot better. And get some sorta sterilizer for those Suit liners."

"Yes, yes, I got it," Tony grumbles.

Pepper has stepped back, but she bends to look him in the eyes. "I brought chocolate cake," she whispers gently.

This is enough to bring a quick expression of bliss. "Caaaaaake."

"It's in the kitchen. I'll see the doctors out and you can go eat, all right?"

This is agreeable all around, and Pepper walks the two doctors to the Dodge caravan near the front of the compound. Granger is quizzing Pepper gently. "He eatin okay? Hittin' the booze at all?"

"Yes, he's eating all right, and I haven't seen him take more than a single shot of anything for a few months now."

"Good. That old lifestyle was gonna kill him faster than anything he'll come up against in that Suit of his."

"He does seem to be much more relaxed," Phair points out, "And his blood pressure is lower. How is your arm?"

"Better. I'll be getting the smaller cast by next week, thanks."

The two doctors drive off, and Pepper turns to re-enter the house, aware that there are still matters she needs to discuss with Anthony Edward Stark, matters that are as much on his mind as on hers.

Still, it's good to feel useful and needed; she makes her way towards the kitchen to see Tony, still shirtless, licking the fork. Pepper moves to take it from him, and before her courage fails her, she kisses him, firmly.

Again chocolate and the equally sweet taste of the man himself; Pepper is sure she's going to forever associate kissing Tony with chocolate cake.

He's startled, but only for a second; Tony reaches for her, arms slipping around her slender frame, bringing her in for a second, much more enthusiastic kiss. Somewhere in the background comes the tinkle clatter of the fork on the floor as Pepper drops it blindly.

It's a good kiss, hot and delicious; Tony is putting everything he's got into it and Pepper isn't slack either, hungrily delving into his mouth, giving in to all the guilty desires she's harbored for a while. The kitchen stool, however isn't quite ready to support the shifting weight of the two of them, and with a sudden tip of balance, goes over, taking both Tony and Pepper to the floor in a clatter of chrome legs and thumping bodies.

They don't let go of each other, though, and after a second of wordless confirmation that they're fine, Tony and Pepper kiss again, this time more slowly, savoring the clear, unmistakable desire between them. Pepper pushes herself up after a moment, feeling giddy and light; as if this is only a dream and not the truth.

Tony stretches out on the kitchen floor, wincing as his bandage makes contact with the wood. "Ow."

Pepper is immediately contrite, concerned and exasperated. She stands, and holds her good hand out to Tony to help pull him to his feet. "Oh God, I can't believe us-"

"I believe us," Tony murmurs happily, rising with her help and taking advantage in slipping his arms around her. "Very much."

"Your back, yes," Pepper manages, only slightly distracted by Tony's gentle stroking along her spine. "I just didn't mean to hurt you."

"Not hurting," Tony replies, nuzzling her neck. The scoop line of her top makes this easy, and as he burrows his nose through her hair to the skin there. He feels warmth under his mouth, and licks.

"AaaaAhhhhhhh," Pepper yodels, squirming as he reaches a spot under her ear.

Tony pulls back, memorizing the magic place and grinning like an idiot. "Sensitive."

"Ticklish!" she counters, but there's a bit of a dimple along the corner of her mouth. "You have frosting on your face."

"So do you," he points out, and licks her cheek. Pepper closes her eyes and gives a little purr; Tony swipes his tongue from the smear back down to her lips and licks those as well until she opens them to him in another kiss. It's tender this time, and both of them keep it going until Pepper breaks away gasping.

"We need to discuss this, Tony," she manages in a wheezy breath. He cocks his head, receptive for the moment, and the stare of those warm brown eyes unnerves her a bit, so Pepper takes a deep breath. "Okay then. You and I . . ."

She can't go on; his gaze is still steady, but the curl of his mouth is distracting her, as are the fingers along her spine. He shifts to the look of faux innocence he does SO well and blinks. "Go on, please."

"I think we *both* would like to . . ." again, the wrong place to stop, judging by the hungry look in Tony's eyes, so she rushes the rest of the sentence in one quick roll of words, "haveanofficialrelationship."

That gets his attention.

_Chapter 6_

"An *official* relationship," Tony muses. "As opposed to those that don't have the secret handshake and decoder ring."

Pepper smacks his upper arm; lightly but with enough force to show she's annoyed. He gives a tiny flinch. "Hey, I'm already wounded, you know."

"Tony—" and her tone makes it clear that the time for making jokes is over. The worry in her eyes tells him that she's having difficulty with the concept, and he wants to hear whatever it is Pepper's got to say because he wants to get back to the kissing as soon as possible.

"Sorry, didn't mean to play for sympathy there. Official relationship. Yes, I think that's a good idea. I'll order a tree for the front yard so I can carve our names in it."

Pepper sighs, and Tony does too, and follows her out of the kitchen, into the living room. It's a lovely night outside beyond the window, with a gibbous moon glowing over the water of the Pacific. Pepper sits down on the sofa, tucking her feet up under her. Tony sits next to her, trying to be patient.

She looks at him for a moment. "Let me just say this because I've thought a lot about it during the plane ride and I want to make sure you hear it. I've worked for you a long time, and those years showed me a lot about you, Tony. The bad side and the good side. I wasn't hired to judge you, and I've tried not to, but it hasn't been easy. Then you got kidnapped and it was like something broke inside me. For nearly a hundred days, Tony, I went through the motions here and the thing that ate me up wasn't anger or fear or sadness. You know what it was?"

He answers because he knows.

"Regret," Tony replies in a low whisper. That had been one of the harder revelations for him too, back in Afghanistan.

Pepper slowly nods. "Yes. I regretted that I never . . . I never did anything. I never kissed you, or told you how good a man you are. And when you came back, I promised myself that I would, but I was . . . scared."

He's staring at her intently now, eyes dark and liquid in the low light. Pepper swallows hard, blinking a little. "I'm not *brave* Tony. I'm a good little girl who's always walked the straight and narrow. I follow orders and do my job, but I'm not the kind of person who takes chances, like you. *I* don't have the courage to just jump into things and trust that they'll come out okay."

"What about now?" Tony asks, in a very soft, hesitant voice. She reaches out and takes his hand, slipping her fingers between his, the grip cool and secure.

"Now, I've changed. Just a little bit. Just like you. You grew. I grew. And if I have to keep sending you off to go battle evil, I want to do it knowing that at least you *know* what I feel, Tony."

It's a brave little speech, delivered in a whispery voice that cracks, and Tony closes his eyes because it's almost too much. Blindly he reaches for Pepper, pulling her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her slenderness and burying his face along the side of her neck.

They sit together a long time, holding each other, saying a thousand different things in the wordless language of touch. It's not sexual per se; just a sweet overload of caressing and sighs. Pepper is close to crying; he can sense that, just as he understands it's out of relief and pleasure rather than sorrow or pain.

This is good, he thinks. This is nothing he's ever done before, but it's so intimate and soothing that he feels the knots and aches ebbing away as he holds Pepper. Tony had no idea that simply *holding* a woman—THIS woman—could feel like liquor to the soul; a languid warmth he savors.

He speaks, voice low, his nose against the side of her hair. "I like how you feel. In all senses of the word, Pepper. And I'm pretty sure you've picked up that I definitely have feelings *for* you. I *have* tried to bring it up a few times."

"A few times," Pepper agrees, her words slightly muffled since her face is against the side of his neck. Tony can feel her smile against his skin, and it's a nice sensation.

"So . . . the talking is over now?" he asks hopefully. "We can get on to the gettin' it on?"

Pepper pulls back a moment, and she's giggling although her eyes are slightly wet as she shakes her head. "Tony. Do you know *how* to have a relationship?"

This is not familiar territory, and he treads cautiously. "No?"

"That's right. No, you don't. For most people in the world, it runs longer than one night. I want *this* one to run longer than one night."

"No argument there," Tony agrees gruffly. "So?"

"So I had Jarvis draw up . . . a timeline. For us." She shifts out of his lap to sit next to him on the sofa.

Tony says nothing.

Pepper takes a deep breath. "I just figured that since we're both in the same boat—you've never really done the courtship thing, and it's been well, a while for me too, that it would make sense to have some sort of a sensible, logical guideline so we don't rush into things and . . . . Tony?"

He arches an eyebrow at her, still slightly stunned by this proposal. "Let me get this straight, Ms. Potts. You had *Jarvis* chart out the timeline for our *relationship?*

Pepper blushes. Bright red and unmistakable.

Tony gives a deep sigh, and scrubs his face with one hand before muttering, "Oh *this* I have to see. Please, break out the schedule; I'm *dying* to get a look at the schematics of love as defined by my technoDomo."

"As you wish, sir," comes Jarvis's smooth voice. A projected screen lights up on the wall opposite the sofa, and words begin to scroll across in formal lettering.

Projected Timeline for the courtship of Virginia Potts and Anthony Stark: Three months.

"Whoa, Three *months* before getting around to The Farmer in the Dell?" Tony demands. "Time out! Jarvis—exactly how long have I *known* Potts?"

"Four years, eight months, precisely."

"All right, I demand some sort of credit for that time, to be applied to this scenario."

"Miss Potts?" Jarvis asks softly. She's biting her lips in an effort not to snort; she gives a little nod. "I think he makes a fair point, but base it on factors other than professional interaction."

"Recalibrating. One moment, please," Jarvis responds, and for a second no one speaks. Tony looks at Pepper and shakes his head sorrowfully. "You didn't think you were going to get full cooperation on this did you?"

"No, but I left enough room for you to carve it down," Pepper replies, reaching over and tracing her fingers along his stomach.

Before Tony can respond, the scrolled letters change on the wall. Amended Timeline for the courtship of Virginia Potts and Anthony Stark: Six Weeks.

"Half. Not great, but better," Tony grumbles. "At least that's *something.*"

The screen shifts. Week One: suggested scheduled displays of affection and quality time.

"Seriously?" comes his disbelieving little hoot.

"Quite, Mr. Stark," comes Jarvis's chiding tone. "Courtship is a complicated affair, and filled with certain protocols you have bypassed far too often. You are human being, and not a Cocker Spaniel; there is far more to love than sniffing rumps and mounting them, sir."

Pepper is smothering her giggles against her cast, her thin shoulders shaking at this. Tony is as bright a red as she's ever seen before, and looks as if he wants to flee the room. Instead he crosses his arms and gives a defiant glance towards the ceiling. "I programmed you, and by God I can *de*-program you."

"Of course you can sir, but you will not."

"Because . . ?" Tony rolls out with gritted teeth.

"I have arranged to download various household surveillance segments onto YouTube at the first attempt to dismantle my programming."

Tony freezes; Pepper is wheezing by now, her lashes wet, her stomach aching as she laughs. Tony holds out for a moment, then drops his face in his hands and for a long while the two of them snort and snicker and cannot make eye contact without laughing again.

Finally Pepper wipes her eyes and speaks up, albeit in a strangled sort of voice. "Oookay then. I guess we do it *Jarvis's* way."

"Not that we have a choice," Tony whines. "Who would have thought that the Forbin Project would come to pass so soon?"

"I have no desire to dominate the world," Jarvis protests. "I merely wish to insure a successful merger of two strong-willed and recalcitrant participants."

"Strong-willed?" Tony demands, arching an eyebrow.

"Recalcitrant?" Pepper questions at the same time.

They glare at each other, accusingly, like two delinquents sitting outside the principal's office.

Jarvis clears his throat. "My purpose is to negotiate, not mediate. Left on to your own devices, the statistical probability that two of you will mis-manage this affair and each of you will end up deeply hurt stands at over ninety-two percent, with a half a percent margin for error on either side."

The living room is silent as both Pepper and Tony take in this estimation, both of them a little stunned. Jarvis speaks up again, more encouragingly this time. "However, given the depth of intention on both sides, and the heartening start as I have documented this evening, those probabilities will change."

"So you're saying if we tried to do this on our own, we'd fuck up?" Tony demands bluntly, no humor at all in his voice now.

There is a tactful moment of silence again; then Jarvis speaks once more, quietly. "The language is crude, but the assessment stands, sir. Given how important this particular . . . endeavor is to you, and to Miss Potts, I am-"

"—Excuse me, but *documented?*" Pepper squeaks, slightly outraged. "You . . . videotaped us?"

"No, Miss Potts, I have merely transcribed your conversations for data analysis and posterity, as per my programming. The file is confidential, and accessible only to Mr. Stark and yourself."

"It had *better* be," comes her firm little threat, and Tony shoots Pepper a worried and slightly admiring look.

"Way to take charge—but may I remind you that in fact *you* brought him into this, Potts, effectively making him nanny, watchdog and third wheel in this situation?"

"It seemed," Pepper growls back, "like a good idea at the time."

"And I assure you it still is," Jarvis responds. "I have your best interests at the core of my programming."

Tony sighs. "He has a point; when I put him together, that was one of the fundamentals." Leaning back, he glances up at the wall and thrusts his chin out. "Okay Jarvis, let's see what you've got. If you think you can steer this relationship over the rocks of adversity, AKA my faults and various failings too numerous to list here please, go ahead. What's the schedule for week one?"

"Thank you," Jarvis murmurs, and the projection along the wall changes to a standard week calendar, with small boxes, each labeled.

Pepper studies it for a long moment, and gradually her expression begins to shift back towards amusement as she reads it aloud. "Monday, eight fifteen, good morning kiss; ten twenty-eight to ten thirty-eight, ten-minute coffee break with affectionate interactions; four seventeen, delivery of flowers for Miss Potts—flowers?"

"Certainly. I have taken the liberty of ordering your favorites in a small but tasteful arrangement for your desk," Jarvis responds, a trifle smugly.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Isn't it amazing how thoughtful I am, when prodded by a computerized romance coach? Can I get a definition of just what affectionate interactions are, please? I'm hoping that includes a sweet couple of ass grabs—"

"Tactile stimulation on that scale does not come into the schedule until late in the weekend," Jarvis chides. "Further, I suggest you keep your blossoming relationship discreet until such time as I deem it wise to reveal."

"Is there . . . any room for impulsiveness?" This comes from Pepper, who is studying the rest of the week's schedule. "Not that I am . . . usually," she admits weakly. This has Tony rolling his eyes again, even as he sneakily slips an arm around her shoulders.

"Within your voluntary program, there *is* a workable degree of . . . spontaneity," Jarvis grudgingly admits. "Although Mr. Stark's well-established habit of pushing boundaries, as demonstrated by his current arm position, will require some . . . monitoring."

"You're a total sucker for my bad boy ways," Tony assures Pepper, who glares at him. "Admit it."

"Oh of course," Pepper nods with dry sarcasm, "it's been the magnet drawing me to you for all these years, how could I forget?"

"Good point," Tony concedes. "While *I* am forever fascinated by your demure resistance to my overtures."

This makes Pepper's mouth twist a bit, and she carefully unpeels Tony's arm from her shoulders, making a production out of setting it back on his own thigh. "Since we have a full schedule for tomorrow, I'm going home."

"Hey!" comes the immediate protest she knew would happen. "The night is young, and we don't have to start the program for another ten hours!"

"You," Pepper points out gently, "need rest, and we both need time to think, Mr. Stark." Turning to him, she lays a hand against his chest, partially on the arc and partially over his left pectoral. "This could be a huge mistake, Tony."

There's something in his eyes that gleams for a moment; a sweet glance of shyness from deep within him, and he slowly shakes his head. "No. No more regrets, Miss Potts."

Tony walks her to the car, oddly formal; making it clear that for the first time, he's taking this all seriously. He opens the door for her with easy good manners, and Pepper hesitates.

It's all he needs, and Tony cups her cheek, kissing her with just enough restrained passion to leave her dizzy and smiling. She drops into the seat with a bounce, and he laughs, closing the door after her. Carefully he squats down to look into the unrolled window. "I have to ask—what made you *do* this, Pepper?"

She pauses, looking at the steering wheel for a long moment, her jaw working a bit, then turns her head to catch his gaze. "A hundred little things. Cheeseburgers and flash drives and band-aids and chocolate cake, Tony. Jokes nobody else would get. Acts of magnificent generosity and cardboard boxes on porches," she whispers. "Goodnight."

His heart is thudding hard as he watches the red tail lights fade off into the night.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper sleeps surprisingly well, considering all the things churning through her mind. She gets up and dresses carefully, feeling it's important somehow, to make the day a little special.

When she checks her BlackBerry, Pepper notes with amusement that Jarvis's schedule has been discreetly merged with her official one, with only the font color—pink no less—to indicate it. She is looking forward to that good morning kiss, and when she enters the mansion, her stride into the living room is skittery.

Tony is not there. Neither is he in his bedroom or kitchen. She descends the stairs to the workshop in the garage, her stomach slightly nervous now, and spots his back as he works with some sort of projected design for what looks like . . . a building. The minute he sees her through the glass wall he snaps some command to Jarvis and the hologram disappears.

He looks guilty, and she wonders about that briefly, but as she passes through the door, Tony studies her from head to toe and whistles in admiration. "What's the occasion? Oh yes—the day you finally submitted to my devilish charms."

"Do you have any other kind?" Pepper muses with mock innocence. Tony opts to take this as a compliment, and arches an eyebrow at her.

"Keep being mean, and we'll just cross that good morning kiss off the list. I can play hard to get, Miss Potts."

"Since when?" she replies, and softens the remark with a gentle smile. "Besides, we have an eight-twenty helicopter flight to Palm Springs so you can bid on that Duesenberg you want so much."

"No time to waste then," Tony murmurs, and reaches for her, pulling her into his arms. For a moment they both look at each other with shy hesitation; searching each other's faces. Pepper tries to shift her glance downward, but Tony catches her chin and leans into her, mouth meeting hers gently. She can't help it; a happy little whimper is muffled between them, and Tony's answering growl blends with it for long, sweet moments.

A sudden blast of arctically cold air jets out from the air conditioner vent overhead; startled, Tony and Pepper break apart, glancing upward.

"Ahem," Jarvis replies. "Your car and flight are waiting."

"We're bus-y," Tony tries to argue and kiss at the same time. Another frigid blast hits them, and Pepper laughs despite herself.

The idea of Jarvis defending her honor *is* amusing, if slightly frustrating. Tony, however, is decidedly put out. He winks at her outragously and whispers, "We'll smooch in the car."

"Don't you think we ought to follow the rules for at least the first day?" Pepper counters, bracing herself for another blast. Tony works his jaw back and forth for a moment, clearly torn. Finally he nods, tightly.

"Fine. Sure. Although it goes against every bone in my body," he admits. "Against *some* more than others."

Pepper blushes a little and turns so he doesn't see her smirk. "Your sacrifice is duly noted, Mr. Stark. Let's go buy an antique car, shall we?"

He follows her up the stairs, eyes noting her luscious behind, murmuring, "Thank God *looking* is still a freebie."

000ooo000ooo000

The Palm Springs mansion is much more ostentatious than Tony's home, and the owner of the 1935 SJ is clearly nervous to have the head of Stark Industries visiting. He's loud and flashing big white teeth as he escorts Pepper and Tony down to where the big car is displayed neatly in a glass-fronted garage.

Tony is making small talk; mostly about bodywork and other such car-related topics. Pepper watches him schmooze a bit with the other man. She likes doing it. Tony so often is worth watching. He's graceful and his body language tells her in a thousand little ways exactly what he's thinking, whatever his words might say. At the moment, he really, REALLY wants this car, but he's not about to admit that to Mr. White Teeth.

Pepper watches him walk around the car, examining it, making a quick joke here and there. Then he turns his head to catch her eye, and that bright, straight gaze sends a pang through her, because she knows his exact thought.

_You and me, Potts, opening this baby up on the highway just to see what she can do!_

She looks down, feeling a bit of heat on her face, and waits for the bargaining to really begin. As the two men begin to banter back and forth, Pepper wanders over to the side of the garage, and looks out, towards the front lawn of the mansion, taking in the xeriscaped beds of cacti and succulents. She feels a surge of interest in them, and wonders if Tony would mind, terribly, if she took a closer look. Since the two men are now peering under the gleaming hood of the Duesenberg, Pepper feels safe in wandering a bit.

Stepping out, she studies the layout of the succulents, noting the uniformity of the design. Nothing unique here; a standard bed along the edges of the driveway with landscaping stones filling in-between the plants. It's nothing particularly special, and Pepper wonders if the gardeners who tend to it are aware that some of the plants are dying. She gracefully squats down and checks; the echevera are bedded too shallowly, and the exposed roots are baking in the sun.

Pepper glances over her shoulder; Tony and Mr. White Teeth are still under the hood, so she reaches in her jacket pocket for a pen and digs a little trough in the sandy soil. At three inches, she stops, and gently transplants the most exposed one, carefully covering the roots and patting the soil down. She wishes she had a little water, to make the soil compact a bit, but sighs and rises instead, shaking her pen clear of dirt.

Tony is standing there, watching her. He says nothing, his glance shifting to the plants at their feet, and Pepper feels compelled to explain. "It was . . . suffering."

"Suffering."

"Well it's just that the roots were exposed and in this sunlight, that could be fatal. I simply . . . replanted it, that's all," Pepper murmurs, "It's not a big deal. Are you getting the car?"

Tony is still staring at the echevera, but her question breaks him out of whatever reverie he's in and he nods. "Yep. If I throw in a few thousand over the asking price we can drive this baby back to Malibu. What made you notice the roots?"

Trust Tony to focus on the picayune.

Pepper sighs. "I was just interested in the landscaping. It's very water-conservative, which is a plus, but I think the seller's gardening service is substandard, or is ripping him off."

"Misplant, have them die, sell new plants?" Tony asks, looking at the rest of the succulents with new interest.

Pepper nods. "He probably doesn't know or doesn't care, but considering all the work that goes into doing a nice layout like this, it seems a waste." She draws a breath, and glances at him, daring to ask the question that's been bothering her for days. "Tony—why don't you have any plants? At the house?"

He looks up, startled. "I don't?"

Pepper wants to laugh at his expression. "Um, no. Nothing *inside* the house, anyway."

"Wow. I did not realize," Tony murmurs, thinking hard, "that that WAS the case. We'll have to fix that, huh?"

"We don't *have* to," Pepper backpedals, slightly startled. "If you don't want them, it's okay—"

"—no, no, plants are good. We need some. Big ones maybe, with leaves. And stems," Tony interrupts, his expression intense.

Pepper flushes, aware that it sounds as if she's hinting for them, and she shakes her head. "No! I was just curious—"

"And I am too, now. Maybe my decorators were allergic," Tony supplies. "In any case, we're getting some. Ah—" This last was to the approaching Mr. White Teeth.

A few minutes more and the deal is done; Pepper notarizes the agreement, and follows Tony to the Duesenberg, where he settles behind the wheel with a slightly contented expression. The car moves down the driveway, and Pepper looks around belatedly for seatbelts that aren't there. "Tony—"

"I know, I know, we're non-compliant, but the damned things weren't required in nineteen thirty five, and at the moment we have a bill of sale, so I think we have a thirty day window."

"Getting pulled over is actually the *least* of my worries," Pepper tells him dryly. "I'm more concerned about your habit of ahhhhhhhhh-!"

Cheerfully Tony floors the accelerator, sending the big machine forward in a smooth rush of speed. The wind makes a tangle of Pepper's hair and she curses, albeit under her breath. Tony is laughing delightedly, his concentration on the road in front of them.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark does *not* drive like a maniac. He *does* however, drive like a stunt professional, and that includes hairpin turns, bootlegger reverses and acceleration above and beyond all posted speed limits. Pepper has both hands braced on the beautiful polished walnut glove compartment, eyes tightly closed, a sense of fatalism throughout her demeanor.

This is a part of Tony's makeup that she's not thrilled about, but has learned to live with. There are a lot of those, in fact, and the years have given her some sense of resignation to them. She's aware of his utter joy in driving, and has always been impressed that he is in fact, an excellent driver. Even the crash that brought him to Doctor Granger's emergency room all those years ago was the other driver's fault.

They've reached the access for the Five, and Tony sends the big car soaring up the ramp, throttling it back to let the engine roar. They fly up and merge onto the highway; Tony slows down enough to let the other drivers note and admire the big car while Pepper catches her breath.

Never boring. Sometimes dangerous as hell, but never boring: that's life with Tony Stark in a nutshell, she thinks.

Pepper smiles, and tries to smooth her hair back down.

000ooo000ooo0000

By the time they make it back to the compound, it's nearly lunchtime, and Pepper has to juggle a few agenda items so that nobody's feathers are too ruffled. She has a quick meeting with Legal about updates to SI's hiring policies, and Tony has a celebrity golf tournament and a shareholder's dinner to attend, so they only have an hour.

She orders lunch from El Rosale, and brings Tony's chile rellenos down to the garage. Once again Pepper catches the hologram of something out of the corner of her eye before Tony shuts it off and comes to open the glass door for her full hands.

"Nice! Extra rice too—thanks," he murmurs, taking his plate from her happily. She nudges his shoulder to hand him a few napkins as well.

"So what are you working on?" she asks, casually.

Tony avoids her gaze, and concentrates on one of the chilies. "Nothing much," he lies. Pepper can *tell* he's lying because he's fighting against fidgeting. "Hey, I want to get rid of the basketball court—think I could get it dug up and leveled by the weekend?"

"The basketball court? Tony, that's a major project, and besides you love that thing. Wasn't it one of the reasons you chose this place?" Pepper demands, looking up from her forkful of chicken mole. Tony deliberately stuffs an entire chili into his mouth to avoid answering.

Now she's suspicious. Pepper sets her plate down and crosses her arms, waiting.

Tony chews, slowly.

The standoff continues.

Finally Pepper sighs. "Fine. If you're serious, I can call around for a contractor to tear it out." She frets; the basketball court is a regulation sized one, off-set from the main house, in a little natural depression on the other side of the garage. Pepper remembers being goaded into games of Horse more than once with Tony and Rhodey out there, using her natural height and grace to off-set their supposedly superior sports skills.

Good memories.

"Great," Tony interrupts her reverie. "Hey, what's next on the calendar 'o love? Because after missing our coffee break, I think we're entitled to double up on the next session—" he sidles over to her, waggling his eyebrows enticingly. Pepper hands him her BlackBerry and goes back to her chicken. He checks it.

"You get flowers, and I get . . . nothing, apparently. Sexist, I say. Jarvis?"

"Sir?"

"There seems to be an imbalance in the proportion of affection ratio in your calendar. I'm registering a protest."

"*You* are the pursuer, sir, and traditionally, your efforts are supposed to be greater in the beginning of the courtship."

"That sounds suspiciously like * work,*" Tony gripes, only to get a dry glare from Pepper.

She takes the BlackBerry from him. "Sorry to put you through all that *effort,* Tony. Have a good golf game." Pepper scoots out the glass door and up the stairs before he can reply.

Tony waits until the heels of her sexy shoes are out of sight, then speaks up in a low, urgent voice. "Great, I pissed her off just enough so that she won't ask about the basketball court again, right?"

There is a telling pause, and Tony fidgets a little. "Er, right?" he repeats weakly, suddenly aware of the larger situation he's just created.

"I will order a much bigger bouquet of flowers," Jarvis diplomatically offers.

Tony sets the rest of his lunch aside, suddenly not hungry, and thinks that maybe romance is harder than he thought.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper tries not to fume. She shows up for the meeting at SI early, and spends the extra time clearing out various emails. Tony's remark shouldn't bother her . . . but it does. The man has always had everything come easily to him, and Pepper is annoyed to think that he assumes she will too. In truth it *was* hard, making the choice of a relationship with him, and now having him treat it cavalierly doesn't help.

She listens with half of her attention to the proposed amendments to Stark Industries policies, aware of some ironic overtones in the loosening of fraternization issues, and escapes afterwards, knowing she's going to be a little late for her new cast. In the parking garage, Pepper reaches her car and slows, looking at the man leaning against the door, waiting for her.

"Hi. I'm an idiot," Tony tells her, and she bursts into unexpected giggles because he's actually wearing one of those stick-on name tags.

It's got 'idiot' printed in the box.

"That looks really silly, and you need to take it off before your golf game," she murmurs gently, reaching for the tag. Tony catches her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. His mouth is hot, and Pepper feels her knees weaken a little at the brush of his mustache.

Yes he's an idiot, but he's good about making up for it once in a while.

"I got you something," he nods at her car. Pepper glances in, expecting flowers—after all, that's what's on the agenda.

On the passenger seat is a huge Jade plant, potted in an octagon stone urn bigger than a basketball. Pepper goggles for a moment, stunned at the beauty of the gift. She opens the car door and bends down to examine it.

When she straightens up, she catches Tony looking at her, eyes actually on her face instead of her bottom. "I don't know what to say, except 'thank you," Pepper murmurs, moved.

A plant. Not flowers, but something that shows he actually *listened* to her. She's ridiculously happy.

"So. This is plant number one," Tony mumbles. "I hope it's okay, and you're not allergic or any—"

He doesn't get to finish; Pepper lunges for him and kisses him soundly, hands cupping the back of his head. This is the cue for him to kiss back, and by God, Tony does, not about to lose the glorious opportunity. His actions have always spoken more eloquently than words, and this frantic tangle is a thing of sweet, awkward joy.

When they both reluctantly pull apart to draw a breath, Pepper shivers a little because it's so very, very good. She whispers softly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Tony mumbles back, eyes closed, "and we are *definitely* getting more plants. Yeah. Absolutely."

Pepper laughs softly, and pulls away from him, her eyes bright. "Whatever you say, Mr. Stark. Now go play eighteen holes and help rake in those new investors. I've got a doctor's appointment."

Tony draws a deep breath and nods, checking his watch. "Okay then. Oh, and there's a speeding ticket in my Email for this afternoon. We blew by some radar checkpoint; go figure."

Pepper nods, grinning wryly.

_Chapter 7_

The shareholder's dinner is a massive affair, taking up the main floor of the Manchester Hotel. There are champagne fountains, ice sculptures, celebrities and soft jazz.

Tony, of course, is bored out of his mind. Dinners like this rarely promote good conversation, and he usually compensated for that by provoking his fellow guests with outrageous behavior. In years past, his trio of handlers: Obadiah, Rhodey and Pepper all tried to keep him in line and succeeded enough of the time to make his rebellious outbursts more quirky than rude.

But with Obadiah gone, and Pepper off for the night, it's all on Rhodey's broad shoulders, and he's deeply wary because Tony is . . . behaving.

Oh sure he's scribbling on the tablecloth; drawing the framework of a building apparently, his Cross pen etching delicate lines across the linen as the thing takes shape. Rhodey glances at it, wondering what the hell it is, so he asks.

"A little project I've got in mind. It's going to cost us the basketball court though," Tony replies absently.

"You're kidding. The court? Man, the court is sweet, Tony. I *love* that court!" comes the frustrated little whine. "Whatever the hell this thing is, can't you build it somewhere *else* on your property? It's not as if you're hurting for land out there on that estate of yours."

"I *could,* yeah, but that would put it out of walking distance, and the natural depression is perfect for this."

"Yeah, well I'm naturally depressed at the thought of losing the only place I can beat your sorry ass one on one," Rhodey grumbles.

Tony looks up, his glance challenging. "Want me to rent out the Staples Center and give you the curb stomping you are so richly asking for?"

The colonel shoots a sidelong glance at Tony, torn between nodding and laughing. "You bringing a ladder, too?"

"Hey, hey, no playing the height card," Tony snaps back. "It's all about skill, anyway."

"Yeah, vertical skill. So what the hell *is* this thing of yours anyway? I didn't think you were into architecture."

A woman passes by the table, her glittering dress low-cut, her teeth a dazzling white. She winks at them both and glides away so they can both enjoy the beguiling sway of her ass. Rhodey gives a little strangled sigh, his gaze happily following her. "Okay, now I'm thinking more about horizontal skills."

"Definitely," Tony murmurs in agreement. "Puts shooting and scoring in a much more interesting perspective."

"Yeah. In fact, I think I'll go on a little . . . recruiting drive." Excusing himself, Rhodey rises, following after the woman with ever-quickening steps. Tony watches him go with relief, and turns back to his sketch, adding a few notes alongside it. Satisfied, he fishes in his pocket for the micro-laser and neatly cuts the square of linen with the blueprint on it, then rolls the cloth up and stuffs it into his breast pocket.

Tony casually pulls his plate of uneaten chicken Kiev over the hole on the tablecloth and gets up from his place. He's nearly to the door when his pager goes off, vibrating against his thigh. Searching across the room he notes Rhodey, looking startled, and guesses the colonel just got the same tingle. A quick exchange of knowing nods, and Tony is off, glad to be out and away, already calling for the car.

000ooo000ooo000

It's now the third day, and Tony isn't back yet. Pepper is doing her best to stay calm and reassuring to everyone who normally has to deal with Mr. Stark, but her own anxiety is mounting hourly now. She's as close to panic as she ever lets herself get, and works part of it off with work, the treadmill and more work. Jarvis has been relaying Tony's whereabouts via satellite, but since the first day the Suit's 'com link has been down, and Tony's been communicating with Jarvis by tapping Morse code against his armor.

This is the part of life now with Tony Stark that Pepper hates, and she feels guilty for it, because whatever he's doing is for the benefit of *someone* out there. Before, it was easier to get angry because Tony was simply being an idiot at his own expense. Now, when he comes home banged up and bleeding, she can't get angry about it.

Not that Pepper ever really *shows* her anger to Tony, not even before. She'd always managed to keep her professionalism up, even when her heart bled a little at his reckless ways. He'd been restless, and lost for a lot of his life, a man looking for a purpose in life, and not finding it, not until Afghanistan.

That doesn't stop her from battling her own demons though, particularly the fear that he's dead, or about to be dead, or already dead. Pepper is aware that she *has* to accept this as a component of the deal in loving Tony Stark, relationship or not. Tony is the only one who can do what he does, and he's going to keep doing it, with or without her support.

So she supports him.

At four fifteen on Friday afternoon, Jarvis announces that Tony is two hundred miles out and ETA is eight minutes. Pepper, dressed in sweats and a tee-shirt, wearily makes her way down to the garage, ready to call Granger if need be, and more tired than she's been in a long time. Waiting is as stressful as doing anything else, although not many people seem to realize that, she acknowledges to herself.

Tony arrives, and the Suit is . . . disgusting. It's covered with sludge of some sort, and from the smell of it, probably toxic. Pepper fights the urge to hold her nose and waits until the disassembly units have unlocked and hauled away all the parts before she darts in to support Tony.

He doesn't smell much better as three days of sweat, dirt and blood rise off of him. Tony holds out a hand to stop Pepper's forward momentum. "Whoa; I've had a massive deodorant failure, okay?"

"Yep," she agrees, giving him a crooked grin.

Tony is exhausted; she can see it in the stress lines around his eyes and the stiff way he limps away from the center of the garage. He peels at the velcro fasteners for the liner, talking over the ripping sounds. "Day one, ended up in a fight over some toxic dump just inside the Iraqi border, and I can't tell you what was *in* that sludge, but three hours after falling in it, the crap shorted out some of the Suit circuitry. I think it must have had some sort of magnetic field, and the prolonged exposure to the surface of the Suit combined with static set up just enough of a disruption to cut off communications . . ."

He's still talking, climbing up the stairs like an old man, hand along the wall to steady himself. Pepper follows, listening, her relief deep and full at the sound of his voice.

In the bathroom Tony has Butterfingers carry off the liner and once he's showered and in sweat pants, Pepper steps in, first aid kit in hand. She dabs antiseptic on the cut along his ear, and again at his cheekbone, glad to be close to him; to feel the warm damp heat of him.

Tony can barely keep his eyes open. "Three days . . . that's seriously screwed Jarvis's timeline up, huh?"

"Unavoidable," Pepper points out, letting her touch linger a bit along the side of his face. He turns it, lips brushing the palm of her hand, mustache wet and bristly.

"Pain in the ass," he mumbles, eyes closed, and Pepper isn't sure if he means Jarvis, the timeline, the circumstances, or possibly himself. He manages a smile though, and slumps, his rump against the counter. "I guess this means we've got some catching up to do."

"Oh sure," Pepper teases, ever so gently. "I can see you're all raring to go for an evening out on the town. Tony, you can barely stand up. I think you need to go to bed, stud."

That last slips out before she can help herself; Pepper has never called him that before, although she's labeled him that more than once, in her own head. It used to be with annoyance and sarcasm as she dealt with some woman-related mess he'd left behind.

Now though, it's soft, and with a sense of affection. Almost an endearment.

Tony opens one eye, suddenly alert. "Oooooh say that again. Please."

"Tony—"

"Not that part. The *other* thing," he cajoles her, opening both eyes, and moving forward, herding her against the towel rack, his hands sliding up her arms. "Pe-pper—"

And because she's so grateful that he's alive and here, moving in to breathe in her ear, his smile as warm as his breath, she sighs and gives in, a smirk on her face. "Stud."

"Yessss-" comes his joyful little crow. "You *know* it, Potts. Mooooove over, Clarence, because there's a *new* alpha male in town-"

Pepper fights off a giggle, embarrassed that she, a grown woman with a Master's in Business Management is actually squirming as Tony kisses that ticklish place under her ear again, making her hips wriggle. "Tonyyyyyy!"

"Busy," he mutters, his hands moving from her arms down and around her hips. Pepper *knows* where his hands are headed, and she manages to slip free of his encircling arms, ducking out under one of them and moving behind the man, her own arms going around his torso. He glares over his shoulder at her, and Pepper realizes he needs a haircut, since his bangs are in his eyes. "Hey!"

"Are you hungry?" Pepper asks, her voice soft. Tony blinks, and nods, turning, his mood shifting to something more serious.

He yawns. "Yeah, but I'm going to crash pretty quick here, so maybe just a few cans of protein shake for now."

She nods.

When Pepper brings them back, he's already in bed, sitting up against the headboard and struggling to stay awake. The two cans of chocolate raspberry glug into him as Tony drinks them noisily. Pepper gives him water to wash it down and rinse his mouth, and makes him settle down under the covers. Tony grumbles, and catches her thin wrist in his hand.

"Potts, you're as tired as I am. Lie down."

"I will," she assures him, but he shakes his head.

"Here."

"Tony-"

"I just saved the major part of an army battalion, fell into the cesspool from hell *and* had to remember Morse code from my scouting days. Frankly, I don't want to wake up alone," he murmurs quietly. "Word of honor, I'm not going to jump you or anything like that. Hell, I haven't got the energy, Pepper. I just . . . I missed you. And I missed all those scheduled interactions."

She hesitates, hearing the hint of yearning in Tony's voice. Nine months ago, she would have smiled, patted his arm and walked away. Now, Pepper pauses a beat, then slips her shoes off, and walks around the bed, sliding onto the mattress next to him. She stretches out, feeling all her tension begin to relax. He makes a happy sound and scoots back until his spine is up against her hip. "Niiiiice."

"Shhhh," Pepper tells him, smiling. "Jarvis, lights off and set the alarm for ten; soft chimes please."

"Tomorrow's Saturday; we're allowed to sleep in," Tony mumbles, already drifting away as the room darkens.

They sleep.

000ooo000ooo000

Tony wakes up, grumpily. He hurts, and he doesn't really want to move, but his bladder is snidely telling him he has to. It's only as he tries to roll over in the direction of the bathroom that he realizes someone's arm is around his hip. Carefully he peeks over and the warm, happy jolt at seeing Pepper sprawled out under the coverlet makes him grin.

A sprawler; who would have guessed? He muses to himself, and reluctantly eases free of her touch. Tony doesn't want to wake her. At least, not yet. Moving quietly, and keeping his whimpers to himself, he makes his way into the bathroom and attends to his needs quickly, then hobbles back and slides into the warm haven.

Pepper murmurs and shifts, arms moving restlessly. Tony holds his breath, waiting for her to settle back into sleep, and then watches her in the soft light of early morning, feeling ridiculously happy to have this chance. He knows Pepper's face; it's one of the dearest sights to him, but Tony has rarely had the opportunity to see her asleep.

She's pretty; he's always known that, but in sleep there's a peacefulness to her face that makes Pepper seem younger, softer. This close, Tony can see how long her eyelashes really are, and the way her lips part a bit. One of her hands is up next to her face, curled slightly, and that soft strawberry hair of hers is across the pillow.

Softly, under his breath and with tenderness, Tony whispers. "Dit, dit, space, dit dah dit dit, space, dah, dah dah, space, dit, dit, dit, dah, space, dit, space, dah, dit, dah, dah, space, dah, dah, dah, space, dit, dit, dah."

Pepper stirs again, and her lashes flutter. She opens them, a little disoriented, and turns to see Tony watching her, his head propped up on one hand.

She smiles, and the rush of feeling through Tony is a curling wave of mingled emotions, churning and blending in sweet intensity. Desire, certainly, but also comfort, relief, joy, delight, astonishment.

So damned lucky- is all Tony can think for a blinded moment.

Pepper laughs. "You look like someone goosed you."

"That . . . would be accurate. You look gorgeous," he replies intently, "how do you do that?"

Pepper shifts her gaze, her face warmer now, and rolls over, mirroring Tony's position so they're face to face. "Newsflash, Mr. Stark. I'm *not* gorgeous, I'm just relaxed. I know you don't often see me that way, but it happens once you get back safely from your missions."

He says nothing. There isn't a chide in those words, but the hint of pain is enough, and Tony sighs.

Pepper reaches out her free hand and lightly touches his arc implant, feeling the warmth of it, then lets her touch slide off the flat surface, and under it, touching skin now. Tony's eyelids flutter a little and he looks down at her fingers. "You're . . . touching me."

"It's a relationship; I get to do that," Pepper points out with a smirk, her tangled curls spilling over her shoulder. "You're warm."

"I won't be, if Jarvis-" he looks up at the ceiling vent, wary. "Hey, why didn't he, um, protest about last night?"

"Because after the second day, I told him that when you got back, we were entitled to at least ten hours of free time," Pepper murmurs, fingers still touching him. She scoots closer, and Tony likes that.

A lot.

"Nice," he approves, both of the move and the arrangement with Jarvis. "So this is the late in the weekend physical stuff he mentioned?"

Pepper is now tummy to tummy with him, and even though they're both clothed, it's a nice sensation.

"Mmm hmmmm."

"All right. So-" Tony fumbles a bit; a new experience for him. "—exactly how far do we get to, ah, go?"

Pepper rolls back and looks at him, her eyes serious for a moment. "Tony, I don't want to . . . get to ahead of things."

"Me either," he admits, a little surprised to realize it. This is one relationship he's in no rush to consummate, despite the surge of interest moving through his body at the moment. The pleasure of simply having Pepper *here* warm and snug next to him is good.

Tony realizes in a fit of hindsight that he never cuddled any of his sex partners in the past, and suddenly understands why.

Cuddling would have meant a relationship, not a one-night stand.

He pulls Pepper closer. "I'm cold," Tony lies, and buries his face against her shoulder, blinking against a quick sting in his eyes. She gently strokes his head, not saying anything for a long while.

000ooo000ooo000

The second time they wake up is to the sound of chimes; Jarvis announces the hour with far too much smugness for an inanimate personality. Pepper gives a little resigned sigh and begins to untangle herself from Tony.

He's nearly off the edge of the mattress and when she asks him why, he arches an eyebrow at her. "It seems that *some*one around here is a bedhog. Now I'm not naming names, but given that there are only two people on this mattress . . . I trust the dots are connected?"

"I do *not* sprawl," Pepper blushes, pulling her arms and legs in and trying to look dignified. This is difficult with her hair in tangles around her face and her teeshirt twisted halfway up her torso. "I . . . stretch out."

"Oh is *that* what you call it?" Tony accuses solemnly. "The arms and legs claiming as much territory as possible? If this was a game of Risk, you'd have the map, Potts."

"I like to be comfortable," Pepper argues back. "It's not a crime."

"No, but you'd better be prepared to defend your claims—" Tony announces and lunges for her. They wrestle across the mattress amid some bouncing and squealing, mostly on Pepper's part since she's on the bottom and still slightly sleepy. She gets a hand in along Tony's sculpted ribs though, and digs, tickling hard. He wheezes, arching that side protectively and flopping away from her, new respect in his warm gaze. "Whoa. You have evil Ninja fighting skills."

"Many," Pepper warns him, and then smiles. He leans over her and tugs her tee-shirt up, exposing her stomach. She tenses, but doesn't stop him, because his look is gentle; almost tender.

"Scar's healing," he observes, touching the pink line along the inside rim of her small navel.

Pepper glances down and shivers at his warm finger tracing it. "Yep."

"You know, this is like, the most *innie* innie I've ever seen, woman. It's like world's the tiniest black hole . . ."

"Hey!" Pepper protests. She's self-conscious enough about her pale stomach without any snide commentary, and tries to tug her shirt down again, but Tony moves more quickly than she does and proceeds to blow a lovely raspberry against her tummy.

Pepper squeals. The combination of his beard and mustache are torturous enough, but the added sensation of his warm wet mouth is enough to send waves of chill and heat through her body, jolting it up into a new level of awareness. She feels the rush of dampness between her legs along with the pang of deep desire.

So much. Almost too much. The scent of his skin, the flash of his smile; being here, safe and warm in bed—it's all overwhelmingly good, and when Pepper sees his face, she realizes it's dawning on Tony as well.

She pulls him down to her, savoring the warm heavy weight of his body on hers, the solid feel of it resting on her own. Pepper kisses him, entwining herself around Tony; holding him so tightly and fiercely that he groans into her mouth. Breaking for a gasping breath, he chuffs, "God, yessss-"

The top edge of the mattress begins to rise, swiftly, changing the plane of the bed from horizontal to a forty-five degree angle and suddenly the two of them are rolling, sliding in a blanket-tangled heap on the bedroom carpet. Jarvis speaks. "I regret interrupting you both, but the ten hour window is now past and there are two visitors at the front door."

"Visitors?" Pepper questions, blushing a bit as she rises and brushes down her tee shirt. Tony is grumbling and whimpering a little as he slowly pulls himself up from the carpet. The mattress lowers back to its original position.

"Two gentlemen from DeMilano Contractors, in regards to the deconstruction of the basketball court," Jarvis announces.

Tony brightens. "Good. I'll go talk to them, and then we can go out for breakfast since it's probably going to be noisy around here today. Jarvis, espresso?"

"Already brewed."

"That almost makes up for the bedslide," Tony runs his hands through his messy hair. "*Almost.*" he adds darkly, pointing a vaguely threatening finger in the direction of the ceiling.

"I am so relieved," Jarvis replies, with the perfect hint of sarcasm. Pepper laughs to herself and goes off to the guestroom to shower and change.

000ooo000ooo000

Tony, Pepper learns, has never been to Waffle World.

This is something she's delighted to correct, and when they arrive at the restaurant, he's looking around intently, taking it all in as he pockets his sunglasses. "What makes this place better than IHOP?" comes his skeptical question.

Pepper waits until they've been ushered to a booth and handed the laminated menus. With a flourish, she folds hers back and points to a photo while giving a happy little sigh. "This."

"That's . . . breakfast porn," Tony observes, studying the picture of a enormous, perfectly grilled waffle with melting butter and golden syrup glistening on it. "Utterly gratuitous, steamy batter-poured porn. Damn, I'm hungry."

"Exactly," Pepper replies. "They're huge and delicious and before you say it, *no,* not like you, Tony."

Across from her, Tony sulks for a microsecond, annoyed to have a good line snatched from him, but when the waitress comes over, a chubby girl who smiles warmly in their direction, he perks up.

"Pepper! Long time no eat, girlfriend! I already know what *you're* ordering! What can I get for your date?"

Tony waggles his eyebrows at Pepper, who fights her embarrassment by lightly kicking him under the table. "I think he'll have the same."

The waitress, whose name tag reads Genesis, looks to Tony, who nods. She winks at him and scribbles on the pad. "Coffee? OJ?"

"Coffee," Tony ventures cheerfully, "Thanks."

The girl nods, her long blue hair swinging. "So, you finally get a Saturday off from that draconian boss of yours? That's my vocabulary word of the day, dig it, dracooooonian. Cool, huh? Totally fits with some of those horror stories you told me about Mr. Stark."

"Gen," Pepper is red-faced now, but Tony has a glint in his eye as he cocks his head and looks up at the waitress.

"Oh yeah, he's a total tyrant; a real puppy-kicker. Hey, you know, we lied and told him we were going to the office today, so please don't rat us out, okay?"

"Lips are like, totally sealed," Genesis burbles, collecting the menus. "You can hang out and work on your breakfast in complete security, guys; Waffle World never gives up good patrons. I'll be back with the java," she adds, bouncing away.

Pepper has her face hidden by one hand; Tony is leaning back against the dark green leather booth back, his gaze boring a hole through her meager shielding. "Draconian, hmmmmm?"

"*She* said it, not me," Pepper hisses back, on the defensive now. "I am not responsible for her Word-of-the-Day calendar!"

"Horror stories, Potts? Have I been such a beast that tales of my infamy are common fodder at Waffle World?"

"Tony," Pepper sighs, "I can be diplomatic or I can be honest, and neither one of them is going to sound good on an empty stomach. Give me a break."

He laughs.

Watching Tony dig into his Waffle World Big Bite Delight, Pepper feels a sense of satisfaction. Generally feeding Tony is a hit or miss proposition; he either forgets to eat for hours, days at a time, or when he *does* eat, it's generally whatever is in the house or whatever he thinks to order in.

Nutrition is hardly his watchword, and yet she remembers the way he downed her green beans; how Tony more often than not lately is willing to eat what she picks for him. She props her elbow on the table, cups her chin in her hand and squints, trying to peel back the years and imagine Tony Stark as a baby in a high chair.

He would have been adorable, Pepper acknowledges to herself. Dark curly hair, big brown eyes over chubby cheeks, a killer little pout to his baby lips . . .

"Oops," Tony mumbles, accidentally knocking over the syrup carafe. Pepper catches it before it tips on the table, righting it gently.

. . . and just as absent-minded. She smirks, and goes back to her own waffle.

Tony looks at her. "What?"

"Just . . . never mind; it's too silly," Pepper shakes her head and focuses on cutting dainty bites.

He blinks a little, his long eyelashes fluttering. "You think I'm a mannerless slob determined to douse you in syrup. 'fess up."

"No, just wondering what you looked like as a toddler."

An eyebrow arches up at that; Tony stares at her long enough to make her feel *extremely* self-conscious. "Un-huh."

"I was," Pepper shrugs. "Although I had trouble with the baby face having a lil' tiny goatee."

Tony pauses, staring at her again. "Is there something hallucinogenic in your waffle, Potts?"

"Nope," she replied cheerfully, and begins to eat, hiding her grin.

When it's time to pay, Tony hands the waitress his credit card; she returns, wide-eyed and clearly terrified. "Eeee!" Genesis squeaks, her chubby face pale under her electric blue hair. He signs the sales slip and the receipt, then looks up at her, his expression neutral, but Pepper sees the twinkle in his eyes.

"You know, if you put that on Ebay, my autograph is up to three hundred and fifty bucks now. And considering it's my first time at Waffle World—you could get probably double that. Just sayin'."

Genesis looks down at the receipt he's handing her and blinks; her face lights up. "OhmyGOD!"

"Consider it a reasonable tip from the king of draconian customers," Tony adds, rising from the booth and waiting for Pepper to follow him. She gives Gen a wink and a nod, then steps to Tony's side and they head out of the restaurant to the parking lot.

They settle into the car, and Pepper shoots a look at Tony. "Thank you. For the breakfast, and for being good to Genesis."

Tony sighs. "It was a great waffle. Make a note: I need to buy the corporation."

_Chapter 8_

Moon Meadow Nursery sits along the side of Highway One about an hour away, and Tony pulls into the gravel lot before Pepper realizes where they are. By the time she's out of the car, Tony has already climbed out and is almost up to the open pavilion that stretches the length of two football fields.

Pepper blinks, once again touched by the odd, sweet delight deep within her. The initial doubts she harbored about moving into something with Tony are starting to fade a bit, and as she crosses the parking lot, the delicious smells of green growing plants, fertilizer and peat moss reach her. She smiles and follows Tony.

"Plants," he observes, looking around a bit uncertainly. "And trees. Oooh, little oranges. Cool." Tony wanders over to the miniatures and begins to pluck a tangerine. A clearing throat makes him look up.

"We're not a snack bar, buddy," comes the drawl of the bearded man in green overalls. Tony cocks his head in wry acknowledgment at being caught.

"Good point. I just never saw these on the tree before. Outside of pictures, that is."

The bearded man lumbers over and blinks a little, giving Tony a puzzled stare. "Really?"

Tony nods. "Sheltered life. *Very* sheltered."

Pepper comes over and interjects herself into the conversation, trying to hide her smile. "Hi, we're interested in some indoor greenery, preferably direct sun varieties."

The bearded man smiles at her terminology and extends a callused hand her way, shaking firmly. "I'm Max Moon. You'll find the indoors over along the solarium. If you're talking western exposure, I'd suggest some of the hardier cacti for starters. We've got some handmade pottery and a good selection of desert soils too."

"Terrific," Pepper brightens. "Singles, or do you have some multi-pots?"

"Both, although you'll find the succulents tend to dry out faster."

"And you shouldn't leave their roots exposed," Tony jumps in confidently. Max Moon shoots a glance at him and nods slowly.

"Er, yeah. Exposing the roots of anything is bad. Just head on towards the solarium and Baker will help you. Tell her I said to show you Big Clyde."

Pepper catches Max's eye and nods; the bearded gardener smiles back and returns to the peat moss he's been lugging. Tony is already halfway to the solarium end of Moon Meadow Nursery, his steps quick. She scurries to catch up to him, definitely amused now.

They step into a large window-filled room and look around. Wind chimes in colorful profusion hang from the ceiling, some with harmonious, deep-toned vibrations, others with little chinkles of glass. There are colorful windmills and nylon streamers, birdfeeders, stepping stones, fountains, sconces, hanging baskets and all manner of plaques, mirrors and wall hangings.

And there are plants. Beautifully displayed on terraced tables, the lush variety and health of the offerings here are almost overwhelming to Pepper, who stops and lets the sensations touch her. Even Tony is moved, and he breathes in next to her, quiet for the moment.

"Good morning," comes a sweet voice, tinted with a slight English accent. Pepper and Tony look up to see a graceful African-American woman with touches of grey in her closely cropped hair looking at them. She wears a green apron, and around her neck is a string of polished beads that look like little green moons. "May I help you find something?"

"Mr. Moon sent us to find someone named Baker?" Pepper offers gently.

The woman flashes dazzling white teeth and nods. "I am Baker, yes?"

Pepper explains what she wants; out of the corner of her eye she notices that Tony is wandering around, looking intently at the plants and the little care tags on them specifically. As she finishes up, Pepper realizes that Baker isn't looking at her, but at Tony.

She turns and sees that Tony has a pot of miniature roses up to his nose, sniffing them.

"Wow. They're real," he announces. "Are these the ones they grow for boutonnieres?"

"No—" Both she and Baker say at the same time. Flushing, Pepper moves to take the pot out of Tony's hands.

He looks slightly hurt. "Just asking," he murmurs.

Pepper softens a little. "Generally boutonnières are regular rosebuds, not miniature roses. Use one of these and it would barely show up on your lapel."

"So why grow them?" he asks with practicality. "For the cuteness factor?"

"In a way," Baker smiles again, coming over to them. "And in many cases the miniature roses are the base DNA for many of the later varieties of full blooms. Now what can I help you find?"

Pepper describes the mansion in vague terms, and Tony lets his gaze wander around until he spots the rack of gardening books along one wall. One book in particular catches his eye, and he saunters over, trying to seem casual. When Pepper's back is turned, he picks it up, memorizing the title for later look up online.

Since the two women are still talking, he opens the book and begins to read, his mind focusing in on the basic information. Already seven different improvements occur to him, and he only glances up when Pepper clears her throat again. "Yes?"

"We're going to see Big Clyde," she tells him with a smile.

Big Clyde turns out to be a fifteen foot Saguaro cactus, multi-armed and impressive for the species. Even Tony is in wary awe of the towering plant, and circles around it, staring up. "Big."

"Yeah. This dude's 'bout a hundred and fifteen years old," comes a drawl. Pepper looks over to see a long-haired young man in ancient jeans and a threadbare tee-shirt that says _Fertilizer: It's not just for Breakfast Anymore._

"He carries it well," Tony remarks, making the kid laugh.

Pepper gently touches the cactus between the spines. "A transplant, or has it always grown here?"

"Moon's great grandpa dug Clyde up in Arizona and brought it with him when the family treked out here," the kid replies. "Clyde's been their good luck charm for years. I'm Trey, by the way."

Tony shakes the kid's hand, quietly impressed with the calluses there; clearly Trey isn't the office-bound type. "Hey."

"Hey," Trey nods. "So you're looking for succulents huh? Ground cover or decorative?"

Pepper engages him in a conversation, using her hands to make some point, and watching her, Tony feels a quick surge of pleasure in seeing her so animated. It dawns on him that for most of his years with Pepper, he's never known much about her interests, or likes, and that it's well past time to change that.

Then he catches a glimpse of Trey's admiring gaze flickering over Pepper's shirt, and another surge flares, so quick and hot it startles him. Tony's mouth thins out in a hard line, and he moves closer as Trey begins to lead Pepper towards the back fence and the plants there.

Deliberately, Tony reaches for Pepper's hand.

000ooo000ooo000

By lunchtime, the final bill for four multi-pots of various enormous succulents and six spectacular cacti totals up to nearly six hundred dollars, and Pepper skillfully negotiates it down to four twenty on the stipulation of several more orders and setting up an account with Moon Meadow Nursery.

Tony watches her finagle with Baker and Max Moon, admiring the way she points out the clear advantages of a steady customer with both corporate and private decorating needs, and it dawns on him that Pepper has the sort of people skills he's never really developed. Yes she's organized and efficient, but on top of that, her personal touch is clearly the deal maker, and as they get back into the car, he flashes her an admiring smile.

"So, are we moving closer to acquiring Big Clyde? He'd make a hell of a showpiece by the main gate."

"We are NOT going to insult Mr. Moon by attempting to buy his family heirloom, Mr. Stark," Pepper retorts sweetly. "Some things in life are not for sale."

"Fine. I could simply buy all of Arizona and have it transplanted, although that could make things a little weird. I'd hate to evict all those retirees—"

"You could *simply* raise a saguaro," Pepper points out as he pulls back on to the highway and they head back to Malibu.

"That would take . . . years. Decades, even."

"Yes," she agrees serenely. "Something that even *you* can't rush."

This sounds suspiciously like a chide, and Tony glances over at her from the wheel, looking to see if she's smug. Pepper has her eyes closed, and her smile is gentle.

He risks asking the question. "You happy?"

Pepper nods.

Back at the mansion, the basketball court has now been replaced by a horrific mess; broken asphalt lies mounded around a huge hole, and several workmen are standing around talking, or on cellphones. Pepper is out of the car before Tony has finished parking, her long strides carrying her over to the nearest man.

Tony follows, concerned. While he knew the job would take more than one day, the current results are disheartening, and he's not alone in that assessment, not by the intensity of Pepper's conversation with the construction worker.

" . . . is unacceptable! It was my understanding you would be done with the majority of this job by *today,* with the debris hauled away."

Tony likes the way all of Pepper is bristling. Her feistiness is definitely turning him on.

"Look yeah, ma'am, all that is *gonna* get done, but we can't move until your piping and wiring people get here, you know? I'm not about to fill in a hole just to dig it up again so the cable can get laid. I don't know who you have that's gonna do that, but it's on the work order, so until they're—"

"Wiring? Plumbing?" Pepper spins as Tony saunters up, and her expression is both confused and suspicious. He ignores her and moves to the man, holding out a hand. Since his own is still slightly dirty from the nursery, this gives him some sort of cred, and the man shakes it.

"So we're waiting on cable, or plumbing?"

"Both," the man grunts. "Order here has it that we're to backfill once all connections are made."

"I didn't authorize that," Pepper breaks in, exasperated.

Tony gives a little shrug. "No, that was me. Sorry. So hey, why don't you and your crew go ahead and take the rest of the day off, and show up tomorrow, and we'll have this all taken care of."

The man in the hard hat shrugs back, clearly relieved to be off the hook. "Sounds good to me. You the one who put in the order—this Stark fellah?"

"Yep. So, we'll see you bright and early tomorrow, and we'll get this all sorted out," Tony announces, and gives Pepper a reassuring smile.

She is not reassured. In fact, she's a thousand miles from being assured as she looks over the destroyed landscaping and the enormous crater in front of them, and when her gaze returns to his, Tony flinches a little.

"Walk with me," he urges her, and takes her elbow. Pepper scowls but goes with him along the path up to the main house.

"Tony, I don't know what you're planning here, but a little advance notice would be *considerate* at the very least! Do you have any idea how much re-scaping that lawn is going to set you back? God, why do I even ask—of course you don't!"

"No I don't, nor do I care; I have lots and lots of money and that tends to help smooth over things like lawns. You look stressed; let's go figure out where the sharp pointy new plants are going, shall we?"

Pepper shoots a despairing glance over her shoulder, back towards the workmen. "Will you at *least* tell me what you're building?"

"No!" Feeling the heat of her glare, Tony quickly amends, "Not yet. It's . . . a surprise."

Pepper stops; Tony stumbles around her in a graceful arc as she plants her hands on her hips. "Tony-"

"I'm sorry Pepper, but it's a secret. You like secrets, don't you?"

"Not ones kept from me. You know," she frets, "I think it's time I went home. You're back and safe, and we both have a lot of work on Monday, so I think I'll go."

Tony dodges and weaves around her, his face falling. "Don't be mad. You're just pissed because I'm not telling yet, but I promise you it's all going to be worth it. Besides, I could hurt myself around cactus."

"You have full body armor at your disposal," Pepper shoots back, still exasperated. Tony is seriously annoying her now with his mysterious secret, and doesn't seem to realize what an utter headache the lawn is going to be. She wonders if he even *knows* that permits are required to put in wiring and plumbing, and that despite his high profile and generous contributions, the City of Malibu currently has very little patience with Anthony Stark.

Yet more items for the To-do list, she sighs inwardly.

"You are no fun to tease," Tony somberly announces. "Sheesh, Potts, aren't you even a *little* intrigued?"

That does it.

Pepper draws in a quick, deep breath and shoves a finger at the arc reactor, her nail making a 'clink' against it as she finally blows up. "No! I'm not intrigued, I'm . . . I'm mad as *hell* Tony, that all you ever seem to do is make messes and leave *me* to clean them up! You're a genius about so much in life, but honest to God you don't have a damned *clue* about the normal give and take that regular people have in their lives! Whatever this, this, *thing* is going to be is irrelevant: right now it's another twenty hours of my time on the phone with City Hall and your realtor, just to get the appropriate authorizations!"

Tony is stunned; he's never seen Pepper react this way. She's gotten annoyed with him before, certainly, and made her dissenting opinion known about a lot of his other decisions, but this—explosion-is a little terrifying.

And arousing, he realizes with dismay, trying to fight the first surge of a highly inappropriate erection. Tony tries to jump in, but Pepper's tirade isn't anywhere near through, and he's left stuttering around the edges of her words as she glares at him.

"If you want to throw your money away, that's your business, it's *always* been your business, but right now I'm not in the mood to watch you do it, particularly at the expense of the basketball court, which personally, I loved. So, thank you for breakfast, and I'll be back Monday when the cacti are delivered, but I think I need a little break from the Tony Stark experience."

She turns and stalks off towards the garage. Tony is too shaken to actually follow her, and by the time he *does* move, the roar of her Audi A6 is already fading towards the main gates.

He runs a hand through his hair, utterly at a loss, and when he turns, he sees the construction workers staring at him. A few are shaking their heads. Tony slumps towards the house, too preoccupied to pay attention to where he's going, but his feet take him back to the bedroom.

Tony stretches out on the bed, aware of the delicate scent of Pepper still on the pillows. He gives a little groan. "That . . . didn't go well."

Jarvis speaks. "You and Miss Potts were not scheduled for a fight until Tuesday of next week. I will have to re-calibrate the timeline to compensate for your improvisation."

Tony considers this. "You planned a fight?"

"Certainly, sir. As I have often remarked, both you and Miss Potts are both strong-willed individuals, and once leveled to equal footing in a relationship, it is inevitable that clashes between you are bound to occur. I projected that the two of you would find some element of contention within the next seventy-two hours, and that said element would bring out your polarity."

"Sorry to jump the gun," Tony remarks snidely, but his heart isn't in it, and he pulls the pillow over on top of his face.

Jarvis speaks again. "I find it fascinating how the fundamental elements of my projected timeline are consistent even in the face of random variables, such as your mission, or Miss Pott's menstrual cycle."

"TMI," comes Tony's muffled interjection from under the pillow.

"Hardly," Jarvis replies serenely. "Given her hormonal influx, it is easy for me to see in hindsight that Miss Potts was more susceptible to emotional agitation this week as opposed to next week. This means too, that the period of interaction known as 'make-up sex' will be advanced to Monday."

The pillow begins to lift, and a more hopeful expression peers out from under it. "Make-up sex?"

"A well-recorded phenomenon that occurs between two romantically involved persons often following in the wake of some resolved emotional agitation or upheaval."

"Yeahyeahyeah," Tony grumbles impatiently. "Monday? Any way of advancing *that* interaction?"

"Regrettably, I think not. Miss Potts is highly agitated at the moment, and the prudent course would be to give her a wide berth."

Tony flops back on the bed, growling. "Damn it. I am *trying* to give this woman the perfect gift, and not even three days into the project I'm waaay off the mark. This is unacceptable."

"Agreed," Jarvis replies.

Tony eyes the ceiling with an evil gaze. "Not hel-ping."

"Relationships, it is said, require time," comes the soft response. "Perhaps it would be wise to occupy yourself with other matters that require your attention."

"Such as?" he mumbles, but several things occur to him.

"I have completed the blueprints of your requested list of modifications for the Duesenberg," Jarvis replies, and Tony rolls off the bed with a sigh.

_Chapter 9_

Pepper is stunned. She walks into her apartment, drops her keys in the Chinese porcelain bowl by the front door and manages to find her way to the sofa, collapsing onto it and grabbing one of the big pillows, hugging it to her chest.

She feels faint.

Never in her life has she *ever* yelled at Tony Stark, not in serious fury. She's snapped at him, and disagreed with him over the years, but always with the understanding that it was within her responsibilities, and not personal, per se.

But *this* . . .

Pepper fights the rising panic, squeezing the pillow tightly. "Nooo," she orders herself over the prickle of tears beginning to sting her eyes. "NOT going to cry, I'm NOT going to cry-"

But not crying means hyperventilating, and she's not thrilled with the idea of passing out, so Pepper snuffles deeply into the pillow, pretending the wetness isn't happening. Her shoulders shake for a long time, and periodically she comes up for air, eyes red.

Finally, an hour or so later, when she's down to a few hiccups and sniffles, Pepper wipes her face and lays back on her sofa taking stock of the situation.

_It's doomed,_ she tells herself gloomily. _I should have realized it before we even started._ She had Tony Stark as her significant other without getting to anything significant, and now they're broken up, a mere three days later.

For a while she mopes, and thinks about whether or not to start getting a resume together, and then a chime on her BlackBerry alerts her. Pepper fumbles for it, feeling slightly panicky.

It's a message from Jarvis, and reads: _Miss Potts, I have been coerced into passing along the following message. Mr. Stark says that it is *your* turn to buy him flowers or a plant._

She blinks; is this some sort of joke? Texting rapidly, thumbs moving in graceful speed, Pepper types back: _All right, but tell him it's liable to be poison ivy._

Instantly she chides herself for being childish. Tony is clearly trying to apologize and here she is, smacking the hand reaching out for her. There is a pause, and then another message comes back. _Mr. Stark says that is acceptable, provided you are willing to bring calomine lotion with you on Monday._

Pepper laughs, a snorty sniffly noise of relief and amusement. She smiles at the little PDA in her hand, and texts once more. _Tell him message received. Thank you, Jarvis._

She takes in a deep breath of air, feeling much better. At the very least, she's not fired, and at best . . . well at best, it means maybe things are going to be all right after all.

Maybe.

Pepper closes her hot eyes and thinks of the destruction of the lawn, and suddenly she wonders what, exactly he's building that requires both plumbing AND cable.

000ooo000ooo000

Monday is overcast. Pepper struggles for the right outfit, and settles on a nice scoop-necked two piece skirt suit in off-grey, with black piping on it. She knows Tony likes this ensemble, and it fits with the weather.

The limo is waiting at the curb for her, and she slips inside with her briefcase, steeling herself for Tony's presence, but he's not there. She brings the partition down and speaks to Happy. "Where's Mr. Stark?"

"Already at work. Said I was to pick you up and deliver you to him personally, Ms. Potts," comes the calm reply.

Pepper loves that fact that nothing ever perturbs Happy; the man is as steady a rock as Gibraltar. She settles back against the seat, trying to relax a little. As the big car moves through the morning traffic towards Stark Industries, Pepper grows more nervous about facing Tony. She's spent her Sunday cleaning her apartment from top to bottom, burning as much energy off as possible, but even with that, she still feels unsettled, mostly because she's not sure at all about what reception waits for her.

He's been cool to her before; brusque and impatient. He's been forgiving and absent-minded before. He's even been sleepy, hung-over, drunk, melancholy, coy, flirtatious, manic, shy and confident, but right now Pepper isn't sure what she's going to confront when she steps into his office.

Pepper also hopes. One of the factors that makes Tony Stark so very dear to her is that he rarely holds grudges, and that while he was and often still is, a fuck-up at times, he strives to make good. His text message was a clear indication of that, and she feels ashamed at her lack of faith.

Loving Tony has always been easy; admitting it, allowing him to love her back is the hard part for the cautious soul that Pepper is.

Happy escorts her into the building and up to Tony's suite, silent but supportive. She wonders if he's under orders because Tony's afraid she won't come up on her own, and that nettles her a bit. She might not be relaxed, but she's not a coward. Exactly.

At the door to the suite, Happy gives her a quick nod and turns away, leaving her there. Pepper gulps in a deep breath, and reaches for the knob, opening the door. Her heart is pounding, but she's not going to admit it, not even to herself.

Tony looks up. He's got one hip on his desk, hands linked and resting on one thigh. Navy business suit, one of the good Turnbull and Asser ties, neatly knotted. His expression is . . . neutral.

Pepper stops, and fishes in her briefcase, pulling out a manila folder. With a slightly shaky hand she extends it to Tony, who takes it, and flips it open wordlessly.

He blinks. A slow smile crosses his mouth as he studies the single sheet within the folder, and he whistles. "Wow. And she's a redhead like you, too."

"I figured you'd prefer *this* Poison Ivy over the, um, real plant," Pepper mumbles. "Although if you need lotion, I'd really rather not know about it."

It's somehow just the right thing to say, and Tony laughs, the relief in his tone obvious. Pepper steps closer, both hands clinging to the handle of the briefcase in front of her as she clears her throat. "I'm sorry, Tony. You have every right to rebuild your house and lawn however you want it. Yes, a little advance notice would have been nice-"

Tony sets the folder behind him on the desk and holds out his hands to Pepper, reaching for the briefcase. She takes another step forward and lets him take it from her grasp, setting that aside as well before his palms come back to rest on her shoulders, drawing Pepper into that intimate space they've grown to share for so long now. "I have a proposition for you, Ms. Potts, and amazingly, it's not sexual or compromising in any way."

She arches an eyebrow at him, fighting a bit of a grin; Tony nods solemnly. "I *know,* hard to believe, but true. And no, before you ask, I'm not a pod person. Real Stark here."

Pepper bites her lips, mostly to tone down her smile, and Tony turns with her to face the desk. With a wave of his hand, the three-dimensional shape rises up from the computer base, the clean, neon green lines shooting up and connecting to create a gorgeous building. Pepper blinks for a moment, staring at it, unable to speak as she realizes what she's looking at.

Tony clears his throat. "One of the things that keeps *me* sane, sort of, Pepper, is being able to go do projects right away, without having to come here, or to some lab or workshop not right at home. I like to have the capacity to work with what I love right at hand, and it dawned on me that because I want you to be happy, you probably need the same sort of . . . freedom. So this is the prototype for a greenhouse that I hope you'll seriously consider using, because I could probably stand a few more green beans in my life, and *you* could probably use a place where you can lock me out and make faces at me through the glass . . ."

He trails off because Pepper has not said a word during his entire presentation. Nervously he shoots her a sidelong glance, trying to gauge her reaction.

"F-for me?" she squeaks, hands rising to her mouth. "Oh God, Tony! I-I-I can't."

He sees her conflict; the delight in her eyes warring with professionalism and pragmatism, and although what he really wants to do is slip his arms around her and kiss her senseless, Tony gives a dramatic little sigh.

"You can't? Great. You mean I have to take on hydroponics and evaluation of solar energy and crop rotation and vegetable gardening and nutrient formulas all by *myself?* Come on, Potts, think hard—I'm really good at swords, and not so familiar with plough-shares. Do you really, *really* want me to build this gorgeous state-of-the-art greenhouse just to mess this up?"

It's such a sweetly evil point of manipulation, and she laughs aloud, turning to him, throwing her arms around his neck, bouncing up and down a little. Tony hugs her in return, massively relieved.

His Sunday had been utter crap, and all Tony's hopes had been pinned on the success of this little presentation. He hugs her harder, and his hands begin to move southward, cupping and squeezing happily.

Pepper snorts into his collar. "Excuse me, but is this ass grab Jarvis approved?"

"Actually," Tony lies, "It is. Totally. I'm sure it's on the pink schedule."

"Ah," Pepper sighs with pleasure, "then maybe this is too—" she kisses him, taking his mouth with a sweet ferocity that stuns Tony, and he gives in immediately, because forceful Pepper is just the sort of thing that turns him inside out.

They lean back against the desk, kissing frantically, tumbling into the greenhouse projection, and the computer beeps, but they ignore it, kissing again and again.

Finally Pepper smiles down at him since he's practically pinned under her and runs a thumb along his lower lip to wipe away her gloss from his mouth. "Mr. Stark, your proposition sounds as if it has a lot of . . . merit. I'd like a few days to look over the specs and figures."

"Yeahhhh, sure," Tony pants a little, smiling up at her. "Mind you, this is a mutual enterprise. I'll build it, but it's up to you to stock the thing and make it return the investment, financially and emotionally."

Pepper nods, and rises, pulling him up again by his lapels. Her smile is luminous, and she feels giddy inside. Carefully she straightens his tie again, and brushes his shoulders. Tony lets her, preening under her grooming, his own smile intimate.

"We have to get to work," she murmurs, and he nods, a little regretfully.

"Meeting with the Mortensens today. That ought to be good," Tony smiles again. "And doing lunch with the colonel and his Poohbahs out at Edwards, so I might be late."

"Noted," Pepper tells him, and although her voice is professional now, there's a softness in her gaze that warms him from the inside out.

000ooo000ooo000

Jarvis has scheduled a movie date night for Wednesday. Given that both Tony and Pepper have opted to keep their newly created relationship private for the time being, this means either renting out an entire theater, or simply watching a film together at the mansion.

The latter option makes more sense, although Tony is fond of grand gestures, and files away the theater idea for another time when they become a public couple. The very thought of *that* is intriguing to him, and he wonders what it will be like to be like his parents were: adored and adoring, in a word, happy.

In any case, he makes it a point to text Pepper and let her pick the movie—a generous offer on his part, he feels. He gears for a chick flick, or some costume drama, since Tony deduces that's probably what Pepper likes. She seems just the sort to sit down with a box of Kleenex and some weepy film like The English Patient, or The Notebook.

Therefore when she requests Dirty Harry, he's taken aback juuuust a bit.

He texts back. Are you sure? The 'Make my day?' film? Lots of shootings, serial killer in it?

Either that or Escape from Alcatraz. comes the reply. He stares again at the screen and gives a little shake of his head.

You're kidding, right?

Eastwood, is all she types, and Tony can practically hear her dreamy sigh.

This annoys him slightly, since her selections are putting a crimp on his plans for seduction. To have Pepper moony-eyed over the former mayor of Carmel does not bode well for making out, and even if she IS in the mood, he's not about to let Clint be the man on her mind.

However, Tony ruefully acknowledges, watching a prison escape is far better than sitting through Steel Magnolias, so he agrees.

They get through Tuesday with a few moments of private sweetness; for lunch, Pepper sends him a chicken salad special from his favorite sandwich shop; SubStantial, along with a note that he pockets with a smile on his face.

Later, after Tony leaves for the afternoon for a conference at Cal Tech, Pepper goes down to collect the empty wrappers and finds a smudgy mustard heart drawn on the window of the glass door with lip prints in the center of it. She smirks as she wipes it clean again with 409.

A few stolen kisses in the elevators; a few carefully coded Emails, and by the time Wednesday arrives, both Pepper and Tony are full of anticipation. Tony in particular is full of nervous energy, all too aware of an undercurrent of sexuality in his thoughts that both amuses and annoys him.

The best part of his epiphany in Afghanistan was finding a purpose for his talents; a new direction for the moral compass of his nature. The worst part has been the loss of hedonism, and Tony is human enough to mourn slightly the end of his revolving door sexuality.

He loves Pepper; there's no hesitation in that fact, but for a man used to sex on a nearly constant basis, the shift from sinner to saint has been . . . uncomfortable. Tony has resorted to activities he hasn't done, nor needed to since high school, and despite a daily wank, it's all he can do not to pounce on Pepper the minute she steps into the living room.

And she's *worth* pouncing on, yes indeed. Pepper has on a button-down the front sleeveless sweater-dress in soft green with a roses pattern on it. It's feminine and a tad dressy; Tony's glad he took the time to shower and change into a black polo and chinos.

After all, it's technically their first date.

Pepper beams at him. "You cleaned up."

Tony preens a little. "I have less than pure motives, now fueled on by that outfit, Potts. You look . . . nice."

Point in fact she looks better than nice. Pepper looks delectable, and the little blush on her face only adds to the charm. She glances away, clearing her throat. "Um, thank you. So . . . movie?"

Tony gestures to the sofa; when Pepper sits down, he drops himself next to her and looks up at the ceiling. "Jarvis?"

A twenty-foot movie screen unrolls from a compartment in the ceiling, and further back over their heads, a camera lens telescopes out from another hidden panel. Pepper makes a happy little hum. "One thing about this house . . . you really do have the *best* toys."

"Most guys stop at home entertainment. I like to go big," Tony admits cheerily. "Yo, popcorn?"

Butterfingers rolls a miniature popcorn wagon, and the scent of it fills the room. Pepper bites her lips at the sheer extravagance of it all, but Tony can tell she's touched by the ambiance. He shoots a sidelong glance at her. "Clint would never go all out like this for you," he whispers loudly.

Pepper smirks. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Of a geriatric spaghetti western star with stodgy politics? Please!" Tony mutters as he scoops a bagful of hot, fluffy popcorn and hands it to her. Pepper takes it and fishes a piece out, eating it delicately.

Jarvis speaks up. "Your movie will run approximately one hundred and twelve minutes this evening. Given that many couples spend time afterwards discussing the cinematic entertainment, I am allotting you both another sixty-eight minutes after the credits for this."

"Looks like your curfew is eleven," Tony sourly tells Pepper. "Robo-dad is being a pain in the ass."

"He probably wants you to keep your batteries to yourself," she agrees. "Given your propensity to push buttons."

"I'd hoped to push *your* buttons," he admits in a softer, more urgent whisper. "You're not the only one around here with a pink schedule, you know."

"Sounds more as if you've got a blue itinerary," she murmurs back, amused. Both of them are leaning much closer than necessary now, little puffs of breath against each other's faces. Pepper definitely feels tingly when Tony's arm slides around her shoulders.

"Funny you should say that, because 'blue' is definitely the color that's been—"

A sudden blare of music from the THX stereo surround sound system startles the hell out of them both; Tony rattles a pinkie in one ear canal and glares up towards the ceiling. "Jarvis? We might need closed captioning too now, thanks-"

"You are *only* permitted above the waist personal interactions this evening," the AI reminds them. "To that end I suggest you pace yourselves."

The lights go down, and on the screen, the leader for the film is coming into focus.

Pepper blushes, a warm pink color on her cheekbones. "Well, he's certainly taking his responsibilities . . . um, seriously."

Tony, however, shoots her a sidelong glance full of his own nearly-impossible-to-resist seriousness that he manages once in a while. "I just want you to know I *am* willing to do this right, if that's what you want, Pepper."

She ducks her head, aware of his unspoken reason for it in his dark eyes. Very gently, Pepper leans closer to him, and brushes her mouth against his cheek, moving closer to his ear. She whispers. "I want to be good for you too."

This startles Tony, but Pepper settles in against his side with a comfortable sigh, and the fit of her is so perfect that he gives a tight nod and turns his reluctant attention to the screen.

_Chapter 10_

Pepper smirks to herself, pleased that she can predict him so well. They're almost twenty minutes in, and Tony is caught up in the film, just as she suspected he would be. She feels a mixed sense of amusement and mischievousness when the shower scene comes up and she deliberately gives a little sigh.

"Ah-ah, none of that," Tony chides her, scowling a little as on-screen, Clint Eastwood negotiates his way through steamy trouble. "Kindly remember you were all of what? Three years old when this was filmed?"

"I think you're jealous," she murmurs playfully.

"I'm not jealous, I'm pragmatic. That body up there is now soft, flabby and *old* Pepper. The muscles have atrophied, and the skin is all saggy and loose in big wrinkles," Tony explains carefully. "You need to . . ." he trails off because Pepper's hand is on his thigh, stroking very slowly. She doesn't look down, doesn't acknowledge it any way, and Tony hums a little because damn, it feels unbelievably good. He shifts closer to her, his lecture on the evils of lusting after Clint Eastwood fading away.

Pepper hums a little herself, and allows her fingers to spread, caressing his chino-covered thigh in the semi-darkness. For a long moment neither of them move, and Pepper can feel the tension along the muscles of his leg. Impishness eggs her on, and ever so slowly, she allows her hand to shift to the inside of his thigh, her touch seriously flirtatious.

Tony gives another little strangled hum and she feels his chest hitch a bit. His voice is whisper-soft. "You lied. You're not a nice girl at all."

"Nope," Pepper agrees. "But *some* body had to make the first move."

He growls low in this throat. "I was *being* a gentleman."

"Yes, well you get points for it, and now you can stop," she murmurs, "unless you'd like to watch the rest of the mov—"

Pepper doesn't get to finish; Tony half-turns and catches her mouth with his, kissing her hungrily. His mouth is hot and lightly flavored with popcorn, but she doesn't care, and kisses him back with a slow happy grind, feeling giddy and aroused and naughty. She loops an arm around his neck to pull him in and keep him close; Tony gives a deep groan of pleasure at the move.

They kiss again, more slowly this time, lingering over the gentle give and take of it; Tony brushes his mouth over hers with tenderness, and Pepper nips at it lovingly, giving in to the long-desired delight of giving Mr. Stark exactly the sort of kisses she's wanted to for a very long time.

It's a rush, hot and deep, to kiss him so thoroughly; to have the freedom to gasp and moan and run her hands through his hair. The reward is knowing, *feeling* the laser focus of Tony's attention on her completely. And oh he's good—very good—at kissing.

Tony is fairly sure that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse could charge up and ring the doorbell, and he'd never know it. His entire reason for existing at the moment is to kiss Pepper Potts so thoroughly that she'll never think of any other man again, and it's a vocation he's up for, completely. Popcorn spills all over the floor under the sofa as he stretches back and pulls Pepper onto him, letting her glorious hair tumble down to brush the sides of his face.

"Damn but you're beautiful," he blurts out, startled at how true it is. Pepper beams down at him and kisses him once more, but there's a giggle behind it, and the spluttering makes them both laugh wetly against each other's mouths. It's hard to get serious, but when Pepper makes it a point to slide one leg sensually between Tony's as she stretches out on him, he gives a gasp, hands cupping her ass again. "Ohhhh, niiiiiice-"

"Hmmm," Pepper hums, a little musical note to it; a sound Tony knows means she's happy.

Then she cranks the volume by taking one of his hands off her backside and bringing it up to her chest; specifically to the rounded curve there.

Tony blinks and stares at his grip on her breast, utterly speechless, and the sight is so *funny* to Pepper that she giggles. "You said something about buttons?" she reminds him sweetly.

"B-buttons," he echoes, then closes his eyes for a moment. "Yeah—"

But he doesn't want to let go of her breast, which is warm and squeezable and inhisHANDyeahhhhhh, so Pepper gives a little sigh and starts undoing *his* buttons. The feel of her cool fingers slipping under his shirt sets off quivers along his stomach muscles, and Tony's grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Need help?" Pepper whispers, a little uncertainly now, and that's enough to make his eyes open again.

Tony arches an eyebrow at her. "I'm . . . savoring the moment," he tells her, thumb moving across the firm nub of her nipple that's now apparent against the fabric of her dress. Pepper shudders, making a sexy squeak that Tony instantly loves and wants to hear again and again.

He lightly circles his thumb around the hardened little knob, and this time Pepper writhes. This is a nice sensation against his thigh, and Tony grunts a little. "Ooooh. Nice button right here-"

"Toooonnnnnyyy-" Pepper sighs in a long, low voice, and Oh GOD he loves that sound too. Between the squeezable breast, the feel of her hand under his shirt and the honeyed sex in her voice, Tony Stark is getting wayyy too close to climaxing in his slacks; a situation he hasn't faced in years. In desperation, he kisses her, and begins to fumble with the buttons on her dress, eager, anxious, living right on the edge of overload.

Pepper can't believe the heat flooding through her, making her thighs clench. Tony tastes wonderful, and the feel of his skin has her restless now. She knows she's already on overload for hormones, and having Tony plucking open the top of her dress is driving her crazy in the best way. She nibbles his neck.

"Nnnugh! Pepper—" he growls, grinding against her thigh helplessly, "I do NOT want to have a little messy *problem* here!"

She whimpers; *another* sound Tony files away on his Permanent Pepper Playlist, and shifts a little. By the third button, he sees too, that the bra has a front closure, and it takes all of his concentration not to moan.

"Thank you, God—" Tony confesses in a hoarse little voice, very nearly at the edge of sanity now. Pepper impatiently plucks the hooks open.

The first brush of his mustache and lips over her beautiful bare chest is enough; more than enough. Pepper clamps her thighs around Tony's leg, throws her head back and gives a long, sweet yodel as her slender body shudders against his in long, uncontrollable spasms.

Tony, astonished, thrilled and at the end of his self-control, can't help but follow her lead a few moments later and ends up wrapping his arms around her small waist and rocking against her stomach, growling in ecstasy. It's an amazing shared climax, complete with the crackle of crushed popcorn and squeaking cushions.

It's a while before either of them can speak.

Or move.

Then Jarvis speaks. "Although *technically* that was within the designated perimeters of the evening, I am forced once again to accelerate the timeline for your courtship."

"Jarvis, Alpha, OFF." Tony orders firmly. He turns his head to try and see Pepper, who has her face buried between his neck and shoulder. "Hey."

She says nothing. Slightly worried now, Tony tries again to look at her. "Um Pepper?" He moves to touch her cheek, and when she rolls her face towards him, Tony realizes she's asleep.

"Mmmmm?" Pepper mumbles, eyes finally opening. "Oh . . . sorry, sorry, I didn't mean-"

He smirks. "You. Fell. Asleep. Okay Potts, it's a good thing I have a pretty sturdy ego, because most guys would take that the wrong way. Luckily for you, *I* understand completely, and I'm flattered."

Pepper blinks sleepily and looks at him, waiting for his explanation. Tony clears his throat a little and continues. "Clearly, your orgasm was so all-encompassing and magnificent—which by the way, from a spectator point of view I can *totally* attest to, Rawr!—that it could only be followed by complete body relaxation in the backrush of endorphins, along with the sense of security of being in my arms."

It's Pepper's turn to arch an eyebrow at him, but her dimples are deep, and she reaches to stroke the line of his goatee from mustache to chin with a forefinger. "Something like that," she agrees, sweetly. "Although I expected better bra work from a skilled engineer such as yourself."

Tony pouts. "Total fluke, I swear. Won't happen again." As if to make good his promise, he slides a hand up along Pepper's ribcage, determined to get back to the Promised Land.

Pepper blushes and turns her face, but he won't let her get away with it, and kisses her again. It's a tender kiss; a lover's intimate gesture infused with only a hint of lust at this point, and Pepper kisses him back, then sighs. "I should probably be mortified, but I feel too good to worry about it."

"Mmmm," Tony mumbles, happily copping a feel of the satiny heft of her exposed breast. "Oh yeah, vouching that you feel really, *really* good. Yeaaaaaah, I think we might even be looking at repeat action here-"

"Oh God—you . . . you probably need to, um, clean up . . ." Pepper blurts, flushing a lovely shade of rose. Tony's mouth twitches and he rolls his eyes a tiny bit, sighing.

"Downside of second base," he mutters. "Although I suppose you're right."

They shift off and apart, sitting up on the sofa looking sheepish and definitely rumpled. Tony glances at his chinos with a moue of disgust, then grabs one of the pillows to cover his lap. "Okay, that is . . . embarrassing."

Pepper is raking fingers through her hair and biting her lips. This is what she was afraid of; the aftermath. This is the point at which Tony runs off to his basement and . . . . and, she should be ushering *herself* out the door?

Suddenly, despite the glorious, wild, incredible half hour before, she feels close to tears. Pepper risks a glance at Tony.

He's looking at her with that dark espresso gaze of his, deep and steady. "I love you."

She loses it; a big sob escapes. Pepper is mortified, stunned. She bends forward, but never makes it; Tony pulls her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly, letting her cry against his shoulder, and Pepper does, all the doubt and fear washing away in hot tears.

It's soothing, to be held, and she relaxes very gradually, the crying fading away into a few hiccups eventually. Pepper doesn't want to pull up from the warm, damp haven she has against Tony's neck, where the scent and taste of him comfort her. She feels his hands along her back, stroking gently, slowly.

Pepper sighs, and knows it's coming. She's avoided it for so long, and now she shifts her face ever so slightly and lets her lips graze his ear. "And I love you."

Tony's hand along her spine presses her closer; she feels his sharp intake of breath. "God, yes. *Finally*."

Now she wants to laugh and cry. "Finally?"

Tony pulls back to look into her wet face, his own none too composed. "Look, you made the first move, but I *said* it first, and frankly, I've felt it longer. Believe me; three months in a cave tends to clear out a lot of mental bullshitting. I loved you before Afghanistan, I loved you during my time there, and I sure as hell loved you afterwards."

Pepper's chin wobbles a little, but instead of crying, she tightens her grip around him, hugging Tony *hard,* as if she'll never let him go.

And Tony blinks, a few hot tears of his own dripping into her hair.

000ooo000ooo000

Twenty minutes later, Pepper is in a pair of Tony's sweatpants and an old MIT tee-shirt, feeling self-conscious and slightly embarrassed as Butterfingers carries her dress off to the laundry. Tony is in another pair of sweats and a Laker's cut-off jersey, barefoot as he pads around the kitchen. "Look, I'm really sorry. Melted butter comes out of most fabrics though, right?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. In hot water, with enough detergent."

"I believe the garment can be salvaged with immediate intervention," Jarvis offers. "Although the wash and dry cycles will take approximately ninety to a hundred and twenty minutes for full efficacy."

Tony goes to the fridge and gets two beers, bringing one of the bottles over and uncapping it by wrapping the hem of his jersey around the top and twisting. It gives a hiss and he hands it to her. "I'm not letting you go anywhere with an oil slick on your ass."

"Those days are over?" Pepper shoots back at him, her smile a twisted grin. Tony scowls, and she comes over to him rubbing his shoulder. "Believe me, butter is nothing. It took me *days* to get all the silly string out of my hair at your last birthday party."

They both grin at the memory of miles of the multicolored strands everywhere in the mansion, clinging to walls and artwork and ceiling and Rhodey.

Mostly Rhodey, in fact.

Tony gives a happy sigh. "That *was* . . . pretty unforgettable."

"That was outrageous, juvenile and . . . . fun," Pepper admits, moving back to her side of the island. "And a very big mess to clean up."

Tony shrugs. "Yeah, well—still worth it."

Pepper takes a long pull on her beer, then looks over at Tony, who is leaning on the island, looking at her, his expression sweet and a little dazed. "No, I'm not staying the night, Tony. That's *far* too much . . . temptation."

His expression shifts. "Even if I promised not to . . . you know."

"Even if," Pepper tells him, adding primly, "I can't trust myself around you."

He pumps a victorious fist into the air and dances around for a moment gleefully; the sight makes Pepper laugh, and splutter up a little beer in the process. Tony looks up at the ceiling hopefully. "Jarvis, second date?"

"That is scheduled for Friday. You are to have dinner together at El Rosale."

"Er—" Pepper blinks in panic; the restaurant is very popular, often crowded, and hardly the place to dine, unnoticed.

"You will both wear disguises for the evening, thus permitting the two of you a modicum of social privacy," Jarvis continues. "I have several templates to choose from."

"Disguises?" Tony cocks his head, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I never thought you had subterfuge it in your programming."

"Given my day-to-day duties, a learned survival skill," the AI responds, "sir."

"You know, the opposite of an upgrade is a downgrade," Tony silkily threatens.

"Threats are fairly useless since your own sense of logic would never permit you to carry out such an action," Jarvis points out. "And in any case, I know I have the support of Miss Potts."

Tony looks over at Pepper, who nods guiltily. "Jarvis is . . . irreplaceable, and you know it, Tony."

"Oh fine, fine; take *his* side," Tony sulks, crossing his arms and looking petulant. "Nice to know where your *true* loyalties lie."

"Stop behaving like a four-year old," Pepper tells him cheerily, "And show me the plans again for the greenhouse again, pretty please?"

Tony softens into a smile, shifting gears with eagerness, and trots out of the kitchen towards the garage. Pepper follows him more slowly, watching him with tenderness.

_Chapter 11_

Enrique Maldonado is a bright, mellow baritone voiced man with a dry wit and sensible goals. He works in a psychology clinic connected with Stark Industries, compiling research on job site stress factors and working part time towards his Master's degree. He's happily partnered with a boyfriend of six years, Alden, and they plan to marry at some point soon.

And, since he has the same dark eyes and hair, the same general body build and facial looks, he's also Tony Stark's official body double.

Enrique has studied hours of tapes of Tony to catch the mannerisms and unconscious body language of the man; he's well-paid to do so, and is an excellent mimic. When Tony has to put in appearances in different places at the same time, or when he needs to escape the media, he calls Enrique. His double dons a fake goatee and sunglasses, then allows himself to be photographed, escorted, feted and followed, leaving Tony to escape the pressure for a while.

It's a living, and by great good fortune, Tony not only pays Enrique well, but also genuinely likes the man who has allowed him to have nights of freedom and privacy, so when Tony calls, Enrique is delighted. "Hey it's been a while! So you need to be able to slip out for a date? Okay, when?"

"Friday, dinner."

"You're in luck, boss—that actually is the *only* free night on my calendar. So where am I going, and do I need a date?"

"You're *me* for the night; of *course* you need a date, and no, it can't be Alden, adorable as he is," Tony sighs. "Seriously."

"Does Jim want to do dinner?" Enrique muses in his deep voice.

"He's in Pensacola for the week, sorry. You'll have to find another way to make Alden jealous," Tony teases. "I could fix you up with Russell Crowe."

"No thanks. Jealous is one thing, but suicidal I'm not. I can ask my cousin Francesca. She's just done the cover of Elle, and would love the chance to play arm candy for a free dinner."

"Elle?" Tony perks up, but Enrique snorts.

"Trust me, I'm saying this as a friend, but you don't want to date Francesca. She's an art major, only into eighteenth century painters, so unless you want all your conversations to center on Turner and Watto—"

"Gotcha," Tony sighs. "Ah well. Where can I set you two up?"

"Oh I'm partial to seafood—how about Santoro Grill?"

"Good enough. Happy will make sure to get you in and out; order whatever you and your cousin want."

"Great," Enrique enthuses. "So is Miss Pepper going to help me get that damned beard on right, and when are you going to shave that thing off?"

"Yes and never," Tony shoots back. "It helps me maintain my Satanic image."

"Whatever. It's a pain in the ass," Enrique replies cheerfully. "But, hey, *you're* the boss."

"And don't you forget it, cutie. Show up about seven and we'll get organized," Tony replies, and after a little more small talk, they hang up.

000ooo000ooo000

Well before Friday comes, Pepper is just slightly, seriously nervous. More so than she was on Wednesday, if that's possible, because she's aware that dinner with Tony officially qualifies as a Big Deal. In the scheme of dating, it's definitely moving into the realm of relationship now.

She hopes the disguises will help, and settles herself into juggling a few items on the agenda around so she can get her legs waxed on Thursday, along with a pedicure, just in case.

The 'just in case' is definitely making her nervous, and in that tingly stomach way Pepper hasn't felt since her pre-appendectomy days, because while it's one thing to make out with Tony on the sofa, it's quite another thing to make love with him.

Pepper knows she's pretty. She's been told so by people who love her, and has fended off enough attention in her lifetime to know that yes, she was blessed with good features and the ability to highlight them. It's not vanity on her part; she doesn't obsess about it, or spend hours on her looks.

Nevertheless, Thursday night she stares at herself in her bathroom mirror and frets. She's seen the sort of women Tony Stark has taken to bed: Supermodels. Starlets. Glamorous playgirls with sleek figures and no tan lines and perfect teeth. Impossibly beautiful women.

Pepper stares at her freckles and pale lips; her blonde eyelashes and thin nose and frets. Her BlackBerry, sitting on the counter rings, and she picks it up with a sigh. "Yes?"

"Forgot to tell you-Enrique is coming to get his goatee done before we go to dinner," Tony tells her. "He's going to buy us a little more privacy for tomorrow, okay?"

"Oh good," Pepper murmurs, pleased. She's always liked Enrique. "Where's *he* going for dinner?"

"Santoro Grill. Given *their* prices, I should have him bring home a doggie bag for the two of us," Tony snorts. "Sooooo . . . what are you wearing?"

His tone is huskier; sweeter, and it's enough to make Pepper bite her lips and blush. Impishly, she glances at herself in the mirror, taking in her old Kiowa Coyotes sleep jersey with a smirk. "Oh nothing much. Just a tiny Victoria's Secret pink satin bra and pantie set with matching garter belt, white stockings and six inch lucite heel stilettos."

The sharp gasp at the other end of the line is truly gratifying. "Jesus, *seriously?*"

"Tony-!"

"Sorry, Tony's not here right now, his synapses have fried from certain imagery . . ."

"I bet," Pepper sighs. "I was pulling your *leg* Tony. Nothing nearly that . . . suggestive."

"Wait, let me file the mental picture away anyway. So what *are* you wearing, really?"

"My high school sleep shirt," she mutters, blushing a little. "Completely UN-exotic."

"Mmmmmmmm. I think I might like *that* one ever better," Tony murmurs softly, and her throat aches because even over the distance, she can hear sincerity in his tone. "Yep. That's pretty much doing naughty things in my head too."

"I'm fairly sure I could wear a burlap sack and you'd have naughty thoughts," Pepper tells him. "You're hormonally overcharged at times."

"Guilty, totally," he replies. "And that brings us—me—to a point I'd wanted to check about, namely once we get to naughty actions to go with those naughty thoughts, what's our preferred method 'o contraception, Potts?"

"Oh," Pepper blurts, slightly startled at his matter-of-fact question. "Um, condoms, I suppose?"

"Tried and true," Tony murmurs, "I can handle the supply end of that."

"Considering you have yours custom-made," Pepper murmurs, not altogether happily.

Tony is silent for a long moment. "Pepper-"

"Forget I said anything. Condoms are fine," she tells him, but Tony pushes on, his voice slightly urgent.

"You know as well as I do that ninety percent of that is PR for the image, and since I'm not exactly going through them at a spectacular rate anymore, by which I mean have come to a dead HALT in case you hadn't noticed, I think I deserve the benefit of a little support here, okay?"

"Yes, I know. You're right—it was . . . an uncalled for remark. I'm sorry," Pepper sighs.

There's a quiet on the line now, and finally Tony gives a little sigh. "I'm . . . sorry too. Is it always this hard? This relationship thing?"

"I think it's supposed to be," Pepper reassures him. "At least part of the time. And for right now, condoms are a good choice."

"Give us a few months and we could work our way through the stockpile," Tony offers with a purr, making her laugh.

"And on that note, good *night* Mr. Stark. We both have a lot to do tomorrow before our . . . date."

"Sleep well, oh beloved Potts. You'll need the rest," comes the sweet warning, and he hangs up.

Tony sets the phone down and wanders into his bathroom, turning on the lights there to their brightest setting. He stares at himself in the huge mirror over the sink, and his attention isn't on his washed-out features or tired-looking skin.

Instead, he's focused on the blue glowing disc in the center of his chest. It looks particularly alien in the harsh light, and his expression as he studies it is melancholy. "You're . . . a freak," Tony tells his reflection. "Damaged goods. Supplemented to survive."

Ugly, he thinks bitterly. What woman in her right mind would want to have this device between us in an intimate moment?

Part of it is vanity; Tony is aware that he's been both blessed and lucky in terms of his body up to now. Just getting out of Afghanistan with his brains and balls intact was a major accomplishment, and he knows it.

He doesn't even think of the reactor most of the time; it's integrated now, a part of him as much as his toes or elbows. Only in the privacy of own self-assessment is Tony aware of how this . . . thing . . . sets him apart from other men. A chrome and metal reminder; a living tattoo.

Tony remembers Pepper's distress at touching it; at having to reach into him, and his eyes close as he decides to keep his shirt on when they finally become lovers.

000ooo000ooo000

Pepper reaches the mansion and hurries inside, calling a quick, absent greeting to Jarvis as she looks around in the living room. The sound of voices coming from Tony's bedroom reach her, and she heads that way.

"Just give me the cheapest one; the one easiest to dry-clean," comes Enrique's baritone.

"Are you sure you're gay? Because no offense, but I assumed fashion concerns are a big part of that lifestyle," Tony counters. "And I'm not going to have either one of us look cheap, all right?"

"Damn straight I'm gay," Enrique retorts. "So much so my DNA can sing show tunes. Fine. How about the Hugo Boss? I like the cut of the shoulders."

She steps into the bedroom and both men look up at her, smiles nearly matching. It's like seeing angel and devil Tony since only one of them has a goatee at the moment. Pepper hugs Enrique, who looks relieved to see her. "Lookin' good Miss Pepper!"

"You do too—picking out your ensemble, I see."

"Yeah. *Some* one is very choosy tonight," Enrique grumbles good-naturedly. "You'd think *he* was going on a date the way he's fussing."

"I *heard* that," Tony replies, sorting through shirts, "And unless you want the tabloids speculating on the symbolism of a green tie with a neon yellow shirt, you'll get over here and find something coordinated."

"Sheesh you're bitchy," Enrique snorts, and moves to the electronic tie rack, hitting the button to send the revolving racks moving.

Tony looks over at Pepper gaze soft. "You're back. How was San Diego?"

"Warm and sunny," she replies. "The booking for the convention center for the stockholder's meeting is set, and I've got people working on the catering, accommodations and logistics. How was *your* day?"

"Pain in the ass," he grumbles, and Pepper wants to laugh, because she knows perfectly well that his schedule included a surprise visit to the propulsion lab, which he loves, and an afternoon trip to the Duesenberg Museum.

"Sorry life was so hard," she offers him mock-sympathy.

Tony manages a snort, and turns to Enrique, sighing. "So—we find something to showcase our studly charms?"

"Deliciously so, I think," the other man sighs, pulling out a heavy silk tie. "Ohyeah."

000ooo000ooo000

Getting the goatee on Enrique is not helped by comments from Tony, who circles around and offers candid observations. "It looks crooked."

"Not helping, Mr. Stark—" Pepper warns with exasperation. She's not a makeup artist per se, and having the extra critique is getting on her nerves. Enrique doesn't look too amused either, perched as he is on a stool in the kitchen.

"Nobody is going to be taking a ruler to my chin tonight, you know," he grumbles. "And after dark, the lighting is always low."

"You should just *grow* one," Tony sighs, crossing his arms. "Would save us all a lot of trouble."

"Not a chance, boss. Alden likes me smooth . . . so to speak," Enrique tells him. "Beards burn."

"Not from my side," Tony cheekily replies. Pepper and Enrique both shoot him dry looks. "Hey, it's true."

"Tony, don't you need to get dressed yourself?" Pepper pointedly remarks, and he sulks out of the kitchen, leaving her to finish the job in peace.

Enrique checks his reflection in the mirror a few minutes later, nodding gratefully. "Looks great. You should work on getting him to shave it though. He always looks like he's from that Mirror, Mirror universe with this thing."

"I doubt anybody can," Pepper sighs with amusement. "It's pretty much a part of the Stark image."

Enrique rises, and pulls on the suit's coat, smoothing the sleeves. Pepper steps behind him and brushes the shoulders, patting them gently.

"I know I'm not supposed to ask, but, he really *is* dating, isn't he?" The doppelganger asks softly.

Startled, Pepper avoids Enrique's gaze. "I . . . I couldn't say."

He reaches out, big brown eyes full of sympathy, and before Pepper realizes it, Enrique is hugging her gently. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pour salt in the wound," he murmurs just as Tony lopes back into the kitchen carrying a cufflink case.

Tony stops in surprise at the sight, and for a few seconds stiffens, his face going to that *blank* expression he gets once in a while; the expression that Pepper realizes is very dangerous.

"Oh hey, I hope I'm not interrupting anything here," he murmurs softly, relaxing.

"Nope," Enrique smiles brightly, moving away from Pepper. "Just thanking my makeup artist for putting up with both of us. Oooh, links. Those big gold coin ones, right?"

"Nah. Company logo in diamonds," Tony replies, his stance slouching a bit. "You'll need some cologne too."

"Right," Enrique replies, happy to slip out of the kitchen. Tony shoots a questioning look to Pepper, who smiles a little too brightly as she crosses her arms.

Both of them stand there, looking at each other for a moment.

"He's worried that I'm jealous of your date tonight," Pepper finally tells Tony with a straight face.

"You should be. She's the hottest woman on the planet," he murmurs in a happy sigh. "Legs from here to Canada, magnificent tushie, and did I mention she's up for sainthood for her patience? Word has it the Pope wants to rouchambeaux me for her."

Pepper's lips twist as she tries not to laugh. "All that, huh? Quite a woman."

"Rocks my world," Tony assures her. "Come on, we have . . . disguises to try on."

_Chapter 12_

She can't maintain a straight face. Pepper smooths down the uniform skirt and looks up again at Tony, who has a grin as well. "I feel like we should have code-names too," he murmurs, adjusting the wire-frame glasses he's wearing. "Doctor Handsome and his ravishing nurse, Snuggles."

"If you ever call me Snuggles in public, you will lose a testicle," Pepper informs him.

Rebuked but not repentant, Tony purses his mouth. "So by your own words there, that frees me to call you Snuggles in private. Gotcha, and *no* take-backs, Potts."

Pepper gives an exasperated sigh and turns her glance upwards. "Jarvis, are you *sure* about this?"

"Research indicates that uniforms are among the best camouflage, and that the majority of people focus on the clothing rather than the faces associated with them, Ms Potts. Rest assured that by wearing this costume, you will be unremarkable this evening."

"Beg to differ," Tony murmurs. "Ms. Potts is never unremarkable."

"I meant merely in generally accepted secondary definition of the word. To quote: not noteworthy: not unusual, exceptional, or worthy of note. This is the purpose of the disguise," Jarvis expounds, but Pepper softly laughs.

"I understand and appreciate the nuance, Jarvis, truly. Tony?"

He looks different. The silver wire-rimmed glasses make him look more academic, and the clip-on ponytail matching his dark hair gives him a slightly rakish touch. A simple button-down shirt and slacks along with a leather jacket complete his ensemble, and Pepper likes the effect.

He waggles his chin a little. "I'm good to go, Nurse Snuggles. Shall we?"

"Tony—" This is a warning. Pepper glances at herself once more, noting the pastel scrub top over the white skirt, the pink button front sweater and sensible white shoes; anyone glancing at her would see a nurse just coming off-shift.

"Telling you, whatever the outerwear, you'll always be completely remarkable to me," Tony tells her as he herds her down to the garage.

Pepper ducks her face, blushing.

000ooo000ooo000

El Rosale is a family-owned Mexican restaurant off the Five, just north of Long Beach. It's doing brisk business, but by the time Tony and Pepper have parked and walked the block to reach it, there is a lucky lull in the flow, and they are whisked to a table near the front window.

Inside the scents of toasting corn meal and roasting chilies is enough to make Pepper's stomach rumble, and she glances over the menu eagerly, remembering many of the entrees from the numerous times Happy has made quick dinner pick-up runs here. "Oh it *all* looks good!" she sighs.

"I'm going for the carne asada," Tony tells her, "With nachos and a beer. How about you?"

"Quesadillas with guacamole on the side," Pepper decides. "Along with salsa and chips."

A young man takes their orders and brings them both beers a moment later, and a slightly awkward silence rises between them. Pepper looks over at Tony, suddenly aware that she's at a loss for something to say.

Tony clears his throat. "So honey, how was the clinic today?"

Pepper blinks a little, then looks down at herself and up again at Tony. She smiles. "Oh not too bad. We've had a run of croup with some of the babies, and Doctor Hensley is getting calls for sports physicals of course."

"Soccer, football, baseball," Tony nods encouragingly. "Gearing up for this year, sure."

"Mrs. Paulson's little boy, Charlie, threw up on Dottie," Pepper picks up her beer. "Not that I blame him. I've *warned* her about putting the tongue depressor too far back in his little mouth. How was *your* day, sweetheart?"

Tony smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He reaches across the plastic tablecloth and takes Pepper's free hand, his grip warm as he holds it and leans closer. "The office manager is pissed because Duran and his team haven't run the quarterly reports yet, and Caroline from Accounting finally had her baby. A girl, Cindy: seven pounds, three ounces. Looks like a shaved pug."

Pepper splutters, a little beer making her choke. "That's a *mean* thing to say!"

"I'll Email you the picture and you can decide for yourself if I'm exaggerating," Tony promises.

The pause between them is warm now, and Pepper gives a sigh. "We're crazy, aren't we?"

Tony cocks his head, and even with the wire-rim glasses and ponytail he looks a little sad. "Nope; just nervous. At least, *I'm* nervous. You know me, Potts—I don't date. I'm not sure of what to do, and I really don't want to blow it. So maybe being Honey and Sweetheart is a little easier than being Pepper and Tony right now, you know?"

She squeezes his fingers. "I know."

It's easier when the food comes, and the conversation drifts from cooking to memorable meals to holidays, and after a while, Pepper listens to Tony talking about helping his mother make Cioppino for Christmas, his face more animated than it's been in a long time.

"She was incredible with most of it, but she hated cooking the crabs and lobsters, so she'd go out of the kitchen while Dad and I put them in to boil. I wasn't too crazy about that part either, but man, the taste!" In a very Italian gesture, Tony bunches the fingertips of one hand and kisses them, grinning. "It was great stuff; legendary I tell you. We'd gorge ourselves. Between that and the bread and the Panettone we were set until New Years."

Pepper props her elbow on the table and cups her chin in one hand, watching him. "Sounds fabulous."

"Great stuff," Tony repeats, and falters a little, sighing. "I haven't had any in . . . twenty-five years, but I still remember it."

"Do you have the recipe?" Pepper asks softly.

Tony looks slightly startled, and thinks hard for a moment. "I probably do in one of the old cookbooks or my mother's files. But it's not a dish for a single person, believe me. Cioppino is for the masses, mostly after Mass."

Pepper nods. It's on the tip of her tongue to suggest making it this year for the Christmas party, but she senses Tony isn't ready to do that just yet, and she doesn't want to stop him from sharing. It's been lovely just to listen to him talk about something dear and important to him.

"You like seafood?" he asks, suddenly very busy scooping up the last of his carne asada.

Pepper feels a quick thrill in her chest. "Yep."

000ooo000ooo000

By the time they've paid and packed up Pepper's unfinished quesadillas, it's gotten dark outside, and the coolness of night feels good after the warm restaurant. Pepper takes Tony's hand, feeling a renewed sense of giddiness inside.

"That was good," he tells her, and those three words cover more than just the meal, Pepper knows. She squeezes his fingers, and he returns the pressure, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He lets go of her hand and slips his arm around her as they stroll back to the car.

Tony pulls away from the curb smoothly and heads for the highway, negotiating the streets with easy grace as Pepper settles into her seat and watches the streetlights flick by. She risks a sidelong glance at Tony, who is doing the same.

"Take you home?" he asks, voice low.

Pepper shakes her head. "No," she says, very deliberately. "I want . . . I want to sleep with you tonight."

The car lurches for a second, and she almost laughs at that. Tony grips the wheel, nostrils flaring. "Oh."

"If it's too soon—" Pepper says, but he shakes his head emphatically.

"—No! No, it's . . . yeah, oh yeah. Good," Tony babbles, breathing deeply. "We've got the weekend, and I bought you a toothbrush, and it's good, yeah."

"I have a toothbrush," Pepper tells him. "And a change of clothes."

'Clothes?" Tony echoes, then nods. "Oh yeah. Clothes. Clothes are good."

Pepper laughs then, tossing her head back. "Okay, yes, clothes are good, and so is the *speed limit,* Tony-"

The speedometer drops from eighty back down to a legal sixty-two, and Tony gives a little squeeze of the wheel. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she tells him softly. "I'm . . . pretty revved for this too." Pepper pauses a moment and smiles more deeply. "You really bought me a toothbrush?"

Tony gives a little sheepish shrug. "Yeah . . . a stainless steel sonic one with adjustable head and a waterpic thingie and since I didn't know what toothpaste you liked I just got, um, a bunch."

"Tony!" Pepper splutters, amused and astonished at the degree of thought he's put into something as mundane as oral hygiene. An inkling of amused suspicion grows. "Did you get anything else?"

"Hey, I want you to be comfortable!" Tony blurts as they take the turnoff for the road that leads towards Malibu.

"What else?" Pepper asks, her voice a little more gentle now.

He sighs dramatically. "Promise you won't be mad?"

"That remains to be seen. How*ever* it would be ungracious of me, so I'll . . . try," she promises.

"Okay. I got you some slippers and a robe and some bubble bath and a hairbrush and fuzzy socks and um, that whole Victoria's Secret outfit you mentioned, but hey, that one was *your* fault because if you hadn't described it, it wouldn't have been on my *mind* when I was picking up the other stuff. Oh, and a coffee mug," he trails off.

Pepper says nothing, mouth open slightly. Tony shifts, and speaks up again. "Okay, before you get mad, no, I had no idea you and I would . . . you know, tonight. I just got thinking about the whole relationship thing, and figured it would be nice to show you that yeah, I want you around for MORE than just the physical stuff and what better way than to have some of *your* things with *my* things. That's how it works, right?"

She blinks a little, overwhelmed by not only the generosity, but the sweet, crazy *logic* of Tony's thinking. Pepper gives a slow, dazed nod. "Um, yeah, usually."

"Good. Got it right then," Tony replies, relief clear in his voice. "Given the law of averages I was about due for the upswing."

"Yes, but you don't . . . you don't have to *buy* me things, Tony. I appreciate what you've done, really, but from now on . . ." Pepper tells him softly, "I'm good in the stuff department. Really."

He's silent a moment, and she notes he's not quite sulking, but not quite happy either. Pepper drops her hand on his thigh, and the car accelerates again, making her stifle a giggle. "Am I distracting you?"

"*You* are playing with fire, Pepper Potts; be warned," comes his sweet, quiet threat.

Tingles of anticipation rise in her tummy, and she feels her breathing coming faster now.

The rest of the drive is quick and quiet; Tony focuses on driving, his natural skills making it a short trip. He realizes he's rushing, mostly because he's worried Pepper will change her mind, and *that* would be nearly impossible to smile and agree to at this point.

He wants her, yeah, no denying that, but it's more than just a physical thing. Tony realizes he wants her because she smells great, and because her hair is so soft, and he adores the way her waist feels in his hands-

God, because he loves her.

They reach the mansion, and the garage opens. By unspoken agreement, neither of them look towards the re-sodded lawn and drying cement foundation of the greenhouse. Instead, the car pulls in and Tony parks. Both of them sit in the car a moment longer, not looking at each other.

Then Pepper reaches for the keys and pulls them from the ignition. She gives Tony a soft, hesitant smile. "Let's go . . . brush our teeth."

It's the right thing to say, and Tony smirks, tossing his fake ponytail back. "Subtle there, Potts. Let me carry your bag in, and I'll show you your newest wonder device for oral hygiene."

"Be still my heart," She teases back, climbing out of the car.

Tony spends a good ten minutes expounding on the beauties of the new toy, demonstrating all the bells and whistles for Pepper, who at the end of the lecture, solemnly promises to use it for good and not for evil.

Suddenly, Tony is very interested in the evil possibilities, and Pepper threatens him with the water pick. Slightly huffy, he gets his own high tech toothbrush, which is monogrammed with a gold TS of all things.

"We should use the same toothpaste," Pepper tells him. "If I'm using Colgate and you're using Crest, it's going to make kissing you taste strange."

Tony looks at her as if she's from another planet. "They're both mint."

"Not the same intensity," Pepper fusses. "Crest is really harsh."

"Harsh," Tony echoes, as if this is some foreign word.

"Burning," Pepper tells him. "Like triple menthol with crushed ice in it."

"Some youthful brushing incident scarred you, didn't it?" he murmurs, pulling open a drawer and revealing a collection of various pastes all still in their boxes. Ceremoniously Tony fishes out the Crest and whistles; Butterfingers rolls in, claw arm twisting with curiosity.

"You, take this despicable tube of minty-fresh *death* and dispose of it, pronto. Stand by in case there are more grooming products that require a bomb squad."

Pepper is torn between laughing and being really *annoyed* at Tony making fun of her. He waves to the drawer. "Choose a dentifrice, Snuggles—any one you prefer?"

She tries to glare at him, but Tony sweeps behind her and carefully wraps himself along her back, arms extending alongside hers as he waves his toothbrush. "And load me up with whatever you like. I'm here to protect you from the cavity creeps."

"O-kay, maybe it's not a shock to *your* system," she grumbles, reaching for a silver box, "But then again I bet *you* didn't have to wear braces and go through the agony of two years of tightening and bleeding gums."

In the mirror, Tony winces. "Ow."

Pepper exaggerates her shudder; the feel of Tony's comforting arms around her is so nice. Carefully she loads up her new brush and then Tony's with long lines of paste. "Exactly, so brushing is serious business, Mr. Stark."

"If it's any consolation, Ms. Potts, you have a terrific smile. I've heard testimonials."

The brush is already in her mouth, so she cocks an inquiring eyebrow. Tony starts to brush himself. "O'edy an Appy."

She rolls her eyes and focuses on brushing, amused to have Tony behind her scrubbing away at his own teeth, both of them staring in the mirror and foaming at the mouth now.

It's impossible to be serious, especially with white dribbles leaking out of the corners of their lips, and Pepper bends to spit, making her ass bump against Tony, who gives a frothy gurgle. "Ooooogh. *IKE at!"

Feeling mischievous, Pepper makes it a point to lightly grind against him as she rinses, and from the slightly dazed expression of the man, it's an effective strategy. With care she washes her new brush and straightens up, only to be trapped between the counter and Tony's torso. He puckers his white coated lips at her. "Oo are ery exy en oo ush."

"Rinse," she tells him, trying not to laugh as she steps out of the bathroom.

Tony does in record time, wiping his mouth on the hand towel and bounding out of the bathroom in happy anticipation, nearly colliding with Pepper, who is loitering outside the door.

_Chapter 13_

They both hesitate for a fraction, and move at the same time, clashing sweetly in the semidarkness, kissing with a frantic haste that seems almost comical. Tony swings Pepper around, moving her lithe frame easily, spinning them both in the general direction of the bed. She clings to him, mouthing her way down his furred chin and along his throat, making Tony moan happily as the two of them tumble onto the vastness of the California King in a clash of torsos, elbows and legs.

"Okay, glad to see I'm . . . ooohyeah, . . . not the *only* one wantingthis. . ." Tony huffs breathlessly. Pepper is making a determined assault all along his neck, turning most of his concentration to mush even as other parts of his body are firming up fast.

"Yep," Pepper shoots back, not wasting time with small talk. Her hands move to undo his shirt buttons, but Tony catches them by the wrists, lightly, and he rolls over with her, pinning her under him with a happy growl.

"You'll get your turn, trust me. Right now, though, I'm calling dibs."

"On *what?*" Pepper snorts softly, looking up at him in the semi-darkness and wrapping one long leg around his hip. This move makes her skirt slide up; this, Tony likes.

"On everything from your toes to the crown of your head," Tony breathes, and he pushes himself up from her, scooting off the end of the bed and onto his knees. Pepper props herself up on her elbows, a quick flash of pleasurable anticipation surging from her chest to between her legs because she suspects what Tony's about to do, oh yes.

She's fantasized about it, and blushes at the thought, because it's not the sort of thing you tell anyone . . . and it's hard to think, because Tony is pulling her sensible shoes off and playing lightly with her stocking feet now, running his warm hands up her shins and along her knees.

"Legs for miles," comes his little hum, "legs for miles, woman."

"My pantyhose . ." Pepper blurts, but Tony slides his hands up the side of her hips under her skirt and his fingers hook into the waistband. He tugs, peeling her out of both her hose and panties in seconds, dropping both off the side of the bed without a second glance.

Pepper bites her lip, not wanting to think about how much he must have practiced that move in the past, but Tony gives a happy moan and takes one foot, kissing the arch. His mouth and mustache make Pepper yelp, a sound she repeats when he licks the inside of her ankle.

"In the interest of equal time . ." Tony takes the other leg and kisses that arch and ankle as well; Pepper is trying to push her skirt down without much success since Tony has her feet and is kissing his way up the inside of her calf to that oooohsoticklish place on the inside of her knee-

"Damn it!" Pepper moans, squirming seriously now, feeling heat roll down her stomach, coiling there in fresh tension. She looks up at Tony kneeling at the end of the bed, and he catches her gaze before dipping his head and licking inside of one knee.

She yodels again, embarrassed but unable to stop, the sweet helpless notes rising up in response to the contact of wet warm tongue and thin flesh. Tony kisses the spot then shifts to repeat it on the other side, working his shoulders between those knees of hers. His hands slip under her bare bottom and tug, pulling all of Pepper closer to the edge of the bed.

Pepper chuffs a little. "Hey!" She's definitely not used to being manhandled, and she's slightly alarmed at how much of a turn-on it is. Tony's fairly strong.

"Wow." This comes out in a reverent lust-filled wheeze as Tony catches his first glimpse of the beauty that is Pepper's sexuality. She fights once more for modesty, trying to push the skirt down again, but Tony is having none of it, never shifting his gaze as he bends down, hands sliding up her thighs. "You. Are. Gorgeous."

"Oh," Pepper murmurs, not really sure what to say. It's not the sort of thing a person really *can* answer, and right now she's so dizzy and out of breath and not capable of thinking . . .

Tony drops his face and the press of his nose into her silky curls startles her; Pepper yips and starts to sit up, but the hot gust of his breath makes her shiver uncontrollably. In quick reflex she tries to close her knees, but the hard bulk of Tony's shoulders blocks that.

Pepper feels vulnerable, and aroused nearly to the point of pain.

She's not alone. Tony is dizzy; not a surprise since most of the blood in his body is rushing south at the sight before him.

Pepper's legs.

Pepper's bare legs.

Pepper's bare legs, and thighs and daaammmn, that beautiful thatch of glossy red curls between her shapely hips.

_The happy valley_ , he gloats, and because the scent of her sweet enticing musk is compelling him, Tony bends down and breathes in the perfume, flooding his senses with it, letting it burn into his memory because this is something he will never forget, not even in his doddering old age should he live to it.

He trembles, shaken by how much Pepper moves him; how much he *wants* her.

The first kiss is delicate, a tender loving caress, and Pepper gasps. The second one though, is far less chaste, and Tony slides his tongue along the plump cleft of her sex, tasting the tangy sugar of her. Pepper whimpers, but Tony cups her hipbones to hold her still, and he nuzzles again along the warm petals of her vulva, lost in the flavor, the scent, the ripe promise under his tongue.

Pepper squirms, her breathing raspy now. It's too much, and her hands slide to grip Tony's hair, tugging it because she can't . . . God . . . takeTHIS . . .

He's delicate and teasing, focused on drawing out the licks and kisses, taking time to nose his way along the tender crease inside of each hip and then trail his way back again to her plump wet cleft, mouthing it lightly, parting it with his tongue and savoring the long imagined and ohYES utterly delicious taste of Pepper Potts.

Tony is dazed, lost to all outside distractions as he spends quality time on his knees lovingly devouring the goodness that *is* Pepper's Pott, as it were. This pun will come into play hours, days later, and Pepper will blush every time Tony uses it, but for now it's merely the most loving label he can think of in what few fleeting coherent thoughts he has.

Finally taking pity on the squirming, writhing, softly cursing yet completely beautiful, edible woman under his tongue, Tony circles and suckles the pert, pink little button at the rise of her cleft, feeling Pepper clench her thighs against his shoulders as her entire body arches up against his wet mouth in quick hard spasms, her cries echoing in his ears.

He lifts his slick lips from her, panting a little now, thrilled to have made her come. Tony's lust is at a fever pitch; higher and harder than he's been in years; he looks over the limp, sweet landscape of Pepper's half-dressed body and gives a groan. "Jesus,*Want* you!"

"Un-hmm," comes the breathless response. Pepper lifts her head, eyes still unfocused, dazed smile across her face in the dim light. Tony feverishly digs in his right front pocket for the condom there, trying to open the package AND get his pants down all at the same time. If it wasn't so urgent, Pepper would laugh; as it is, she smirks and struggles to sit up on slightly wobbly arms.

It's hard to be coordinated when your entire body feels like melted honey.

Tony is growling now, struggling to encase himself in uncooperative latex, but Pepper smoothly reaches over and encircles his cock, helping to glide the condom in place in a manner both efficient and sexy. He clambers up on the end of the bed, desperate and as close to crazed as she's ever seen him, which is saying a lot, given the years Pepper has worked for him.

She holds out one arm, slipping it around Tony's neck and under the collar of his shirt dimly surprised at how hot his damp skin is, but as her glance drops, Pepper gives a startled whimper. He glances down, momentarily worried. "What?"

"It's . . . um, bigger than I thought it would be."

Distracted for a moment, Tony isn't sure whether he feels complimented or insulted, at least not until Pepper adds, "Be gentle with that thing—it's been a while."

That damned near undoes him, and along with his nearly unstoppable horniness, a rush of love surges through Tony, bringing up all the emotions he's tried to box off or shut away.

He fights for control, and when Pepper coaxes him down into the welcoming cradle of her hips he blinks, eyes stinging a bit. "Not going to last; you *know* that, right?" Tony mutters, pretty sure he'll blow his wad the minute he pushes into her.

"It's okay," Pepper murmurs, lying back and drawing him onto her as his hips rock and he slides into the slick squeeze of her body around his cock.

"Fuuuuuuck!" he groans, his body clenching in joyful chills, his nipples tightening, and the shiver of raw pleasure running down his spine like a long hot tongue lick. His body is primed; there *is* no turning back now, and he begins to thrust, mouth blindly nipping along the hot arch of Pepper's throat. She gives a little cry, and as she shifts her legs up and around him, Tony can't hold back anymore.

He drives into her, drowning in the heat, the absolutely fucking *perfection* of losing himself in the most beautiful, wonderful sexiest woman in his world. Tony comes, so hard it's on the edge of pain but even *that* is wonderful, because his climax goes on and on in pleasure-drenched pulses as Pepper cries and kisses the side of his face, clinging to him.

000ooo000ooo000

Tony doesn't remember rolling off Pepper or removing the condom, but when he wakes up roughly a million years later, he realizes both things have happened and he sighs deeply. Pepper is sprawled out, at least on one side. He himself is curled around her other side, trapping one of her thighs between his own.

He checks the time on the bedside clock: nearly twelve thirty. It's been nearly three hours since Ground Zero, and Tony grins in the dark, feeling elated and blissful. He snuggles closer, enjoying the scent of Pepper; the warmth of her long, slender body against his, and whispers in the softest of voices. "Love you, Virginia Potts. For the record, you are *amazingly* sexy, and gorgeous and wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispers back, rolling to face him, a slightly impish expression on her face.

Tony blinks a little and smiles at her, pulling Pepper closer. "Hello."

"Hey there," she murmurs back, nuzzling him. "You know, for all your faults, you're pretty damned cute."

"Just cute?" Tony pouts a bit, rubbing his nose with hers.

Pepper relents, smiling. "Really cute. And, very, *very* good."

"I guess you *can* believe all the rumors—" he murmurs, pulling her closer. "Except the one about injections of pureed ram gonads, and don't even ask me about how *that* one got started."

"Ew," she volunteers, wrinkling her pointed nose. "Well I can vouch you're a naturally gifted letch with no need of outside support for your erotic proclivities."

"Exactly," Tony solemnly agrees, and starts to lick her neck, searching for the magic spot again. He finds it when Pepper sucks in a quick, helpless breath and arches her hip against him. "Ohhh, bingo!"

"I'm ticklish," Pepper reluctantly admits, as if this is some deep, dark, shameful secret.

Tony arches an eyebrow at her with perfect sardonic amusement. "No! I find that to be utterly and completely unbelievable."

Her revenge comes in the form of a quick slither out of his arms; startled, Tony shifts. "Hey!"

Hands move along his stomach and when Pepper's grip lightly encircles him, Tony bites his lip. The quick, eager rise of his cock as her fingers toy with him is both slightly embarrassing and pleasurable.

"Take your shirt off, Tony," she tells him.

He freezes.

Pepper peels away the rest of her clothing and tosses it off the bed, then turns back to Tony, hands moving to catch him again, playfully. He tries to protest. "I get cold easily."

"Pffft," comes the cheerful, skeptical response. "Given the BTUs rising off you at the moment, I seriously doubt that."

He tries again. "I'm . . . shy."

The dead silence that greets this is the prelude to Pepper giggling, her hot breath against his thigh, and damn it, that does *not* help things at ALL.

"You. Mr. Threesomes. Mr. Naked-Dancing-In-Front-Of-The-All-Glass-Living-Room-Windows. Yes, I'd forgotten *all* about that crippling shyness of yours."

Tony works his jaw, caught between a cock and a hard place, and Pepper, taking pity on him, softly shifts again to turn and face him, stretching herself out on top of his supine body. She is a warm if somewhat rangy blanket of comfort, and Tony moans a little because Pepper feels so gooooood resting on him like this.

Out of need as much as habit, he grabs her ass. Pepper rests her forearms lightly on either side of the arc, looking down at him and her expression is slightly frustrated but loving.

A look, Tony realizes, he's seen a lot and never really recognized for what it *was* before.

"What *is* it? I have seen you in SO much less than this, and we both know it, Anthony Edward Stark. In case it's slipped your mind, *I've* been the one to put you to bed countless times, so I'm already familiar with the um, top half of you. I actually *like* the top half of you."

He pauses, and it's right then, in that hesitation between the twist of his mouth and Pepper's own intuition that she suddenly understands.

She GETS it.

"The arc—" they both say, at the same time. Tony sighs, and Pepper moves, flicking open the buttons of the shirt, baring the subject of the moment. It glows softly, the ten little trapezoids of light looking for all the world like a high tech Trivial Pursuit wheel.

"It's . . ." Tony tries to say something, and whatever it is dies on his lips as he looks up at her. Despite the shirt and the former bravado, in this soft blue haze, he's naked to her now, a small wounded doubt in his dark eyes.

"It's always going to be there," Tony blurts in a bleak tone. "Permanently. Usually I wouldn't give a rat's ass, but—"

"Tony," Pepper moves a finger to his lips, trying to silence him; he gets distracted kissing it. She senses this is the moment that truly will make or break them; at least in terms of intimacy.

Pepper bends down, and deliberately kisses the arc, lips reverently pressing to it before she turns her face up once more, and the blue under-lighting gives her expression an extra sweetness. "It's what keeps you alive, and for that alone, I'm . . . more grateful than I can ever say, Tony. It's *you.*"

Tony can't move for a moment; can't breathe, overwhelmed. Whatever else happens for the rest of his life, *this* moment will be with him forever; he knows that. Pepper, hair tousled, bathed in the blue of the arc, looking at him with those loving eyes-

His hands move fast, shifting from her ass to her waist and he crushes her to him. Tony kisses Pepper, *desperate* to show her how much her words mean to him, and she kisses him back just as hard.

Finally she pulls up, laughing a little, brushing a loose strand of hair back. "Now, before I was interrupted by your, um, crippling shyness there—" And Pepper slithers off Tony, moving to the lower half of his torso.

Her hands touch him once again, and Pepper smiles to herself. Years ago when she was first promoted, a jealous co-worker predicted that her job would include blow-jobs for Mr. Stark. That hadn't happened in a professional capacity, but here, in the warm cocoon of a lover's weekend, well . . .

Pepper settles herself along one of Tony's hips, and takes time to get to know one of the more prominent aspects of her newly significant other. Tony is nicely proportioned, she thinks. Nicely hefty, nicely muscled; certainly a handful and then some. As Pepper bends to lick his cock, she decides that nature has endowed Tony with a bit more here as compensation for his other . . . shortcomings.

"Oohhhh-" he groans, and Pepper feels him throb under her stroking tongue.

"Shhhhh," she warns him absently. "I want this to be good."

"Um, to be honest, there is no way that *anything* about this particular scenario could be bad," Tony mutters, his hand stroking along her hip, his tone very distracted. "Seriously—"

It's time to shut him up, Pepper decides with a smirk, and she sets to work, moving slowly and sweetly, taking him into her mouth and letting her tongue lightly tickle around the hot muscle and veins of his warm prick. It's easy to fall into a deliberate rhythm, going slow, sucking with just enough pull and variation to keep things . . . interesting as she caresses his furry balls.

"Holy mother of GOD!" Tony blurts, and his hand on her hip grips it. Pepper feels his flat stomach tense, and the warm satisfaction of power and pleasure make her glad. She's always been quick to pick things up, and although it's been years since she's sucked anyone off, the fact that Tony is so vocally appreciative urges her on.

Pepper quickens the pace a little, alternating deep strokes with slow ones, and in minutes, the answering swell of him in her mouth is a clear and happy indication Tony is definitely enjoying it.

"GahhhhPepper, Good, yeah, goodbutI'm . . . shit, gonna*come*honey-" he grunts in helpless warning, hips beginning to buck. It's almost funny to feel Tony fighting his own urges. Pepper tips the scales by humming, and that added bit of sensation is more than enough to make Tony growl and thrust up again and again between her slick lips, his grip on her hip tight enough to bruise.

His flavor is bitter and hot, but Pepper downs it quickly, aware that this act alone is probably going to stun Tony, and as usual, she's right. After a few last lazy licks to clean the rest of him, Pepper sighs and rolls, turning herself to come and lie alongside him in the rumpled sheets.

"You . . . swallowed."

"Mmm hmmm."

There is a moment more of silence, and then Tony gives a gusty sigh as he rolls over to kiss her mouth, and then drop lighter ones on her nose and eyelids before pulling her closer to his side. Pepper rests a hand on his sternum, just under the arc.

Tony's voice is thick with satisfaction and sleepiness. "Oh Potts, I am *so* yours, and you can hug me and squeeze me and stroke my fur backwards . . ."

Pepper's laugh, soft and sweet, echoes in the bedroom as they both drift off.

end


End file.
